


Liebe ist für Alle Da

by Billywick, selwyn



Series: Transformers various Roleplay Fiction [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, call it the Tarma Sutra if you will...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 05:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 73,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this is a love story, it is a doomed one.</p><p>(the "What If Tarn had found Pharma instead of Tyrest" story)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

So, this was it. This was how he would die. Alone, in the cold, with two choices ahead of him that barely outdid each other in their grim hilarity. He could transform and guarantee his own death via the virus he had crafted so perfectly for his tormentor. And for Delphi. It was a gem, a beautiful weapon that would now kill him. The antidote...Ratchet had the antidote. And his servos. There was a pit somewhere with Ratchet’s designation on it, fueled by Pharma’s spite of the mech. One day, he’d burn.

His wings creaked, every crack sending another dazzling sensation of pain throughout his systems. He wasn’t built for crash landings. The snow, the damn snow that he hated so much, had softened his landing, had kept his armor from cracking completely and exposing all of his protoform to the elements.

He didn’t move from where he fell. He could, maybe, try to crawl. But there was no point to that. He was going to die. There was nothing peaceful about.

Option two was beginning to look more likely; laying here until he was absolutely sure that Ratchet and his friends had disappeared. Surely, they would evacuate the Delphi facility, take Ambulon, First Aid, Fortress Maximus. And once they were gone, Pharma could maybe make it back inside. Fix himself. 

Without his servos.

The stumps didn’t ache, there was nothing but the phantom sensation of his most prized appendages.

Red Rust, or a crippled, fumbling existence? The chance of recreating the antidote without his servos, with limited resources? Minimal. Less than minimal. A distant boom, the sound of a fire, a light rain of soot and ash. _ Ah _ . So Ratchet wasn’t going to leave him his clinic to work with.

_ Pharma laughed. _

Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. And yet, he survived. He was still here. Alive.

 

-x-

 

_ ::DJD to Delphi. Respond, Delphi.:: _

Tarn’s irritation at the continued silence grew. Pharma  _ knew  _ the consequences of missing his deadline -- or ignoring Tarn -- so where  _ was  _ he? Three drop dates had come and gone, with no T-cogs in sight.

The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ sped over the ice, closing in on Delphi rapidly. Within a minute, they’d get here and Tarn would make sure his displeasure was  _ well-known  _ upon arrival. A few corpses, razing the clinic down, making Pharma kneel to beg for mercy… those sounded like good plans. Satisfying plans. Maybe he’d take Pharma’s cog, as compensation.

“Tarn? Look.”

Kaon worked the console. The viewing port cleared up, showing the black dot of Delphi below. It zoomed in.

Tarn examined the blackened husk of the clinic, gutted open. Snow  had piled inside, revealing the explosion to not have been fresh.

“Life signs?”

“None.”

Tarn sighed.  _ A waste of time, then _ . Whatever had gone down had likely killed the clinic’s staff -- the cold finishing off whoever didn’t fall the first time around.

“Take us --”

“Wait. One life sign detected, though they’re below the cliffs.”

“How far?”

“A kilometer or so.”

“Take us down.”

Tarn’s cog collection was running low. Even one would do for the absolute waste of time this entire trip had been.

The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ turned away from the clinic, slowly lowering below the lip of the cliffs, following the stone downwards. The winds here were severe, exacerbated by the narrow walls of the cliffs, but it didn’t impede their sensors.

“Found him.”

“Take him on-board with the magnetic clamps.”

 

Ten days of laying in snow and ice. Even mecha built to endure terrible weather conditions might have faltered a little under Messatine’s snow, icy rain and strong winds. Pharma had entered a sort of waking stasis that allowed for fuel conservation, but there’d not been much to begin with. He felt his death approach, slowly, steadily, extending cold digits to caress his battered frame, claiming a system here, a circuit there, the loss of feeling in exterior sensors a smothering darkness.

He didn’t feel as peaceful as he should. There was nothing peaceful about dying. His stubborn will to live kept Pharma going, wouldn’t give the universe the satisfaction of witnessing his end. He’d keep living, and surviving, and something would--

Change?

The cold layers of snow dislodged from his frame in one fell swoop. Movement, without any input from him. Flying, without transformation.

Pharma wasn’t lucid enough to make a sound or realize someone must have found him. With mute, delirious wonder, he concentrated on onlining his optics, if the accursed cold would ever leave the mangled depths of his frame.

 

It took a few minutes for Kaon to work the controls for the clamps. Their new passenger was brought in through the airlock, to the docking bay with the rest of the storage. Tarn waved down his unit, leaving them to man the bridge, while he ventured down to the docking bay to see their newest arrival.

Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

Pharma’s slumped frame, cased in ice and frost, pitiably weak spark barely fluttering to Tarn’s senses. He approached him, examining.

Pharma looked, for all intents and purposes, on the deader side of _ unwell _ .

_ ::Nickel, you have a patient.:: _

-x-

“-- and  _ tell  _ me the minute he wakes up, you hear?”

Nickel left the medibay, leaving Pharma’s slowly thawing form on the central slab and Tarn idling in a chair near it. She fixed Pharma with ill grace, and had gone to root through her tools for something to replace his missing hands with.

A medic without hands. Funny.


	2. Chapter 2

“-- and tell me the minute he wakes up, you hear?”  
Nickel left the medibay, leaving Pharma’s slowly thawing form on the central slab and Tarn idling in a chair near it. She fixed Pharma with ill grace, and had gone to root through her tools for something to replace his missing hands with.  
A medic without hands. Funny.

He was thawing. Numbly, he registered warmth around him, more than there had been for the past ten days. He was inside something, a ship, probably? But who would save him? Who had found him? Had Ratchet changed his mind, circled back and now planned a slow and meticulous death for him? No, he didn’t work like that. He’d take him to a court or something, let someone ‘judge’ him for his crimes.  
The fool. No one could judge Pharma. He’d moved beyond them all.

  
The layer of ice over his faceplate turned to slush. The firm crust blocking his turbine became pliant, soft. Pharma tried for a weak turn of it, but his systems were far too sluggish. So he’d have to tell whoever was defrosting him to apply more heat. Which would require optics and his vocalizer. Pharma worked on those. Oh. One optic was not responding at all, could be cracked, could be gone, he didn’t know.  
What he saw when light flickered on in his remaining optic didn’t tell him much. An ominous ceiling. A medibay light. But since when were medibays so dark in colour?

 

Tarn peered at the medic, noting the raised activity in his spark. Awake, then? A check of his vitals showed a spike -- not great, but better than the bare blip of power he’d been showing for several hours.

  
“Can you hear me?” he asked, leaning over the prone medic. “Move once for yes.”

  
Nickel would be back soon, with the new ‘hands’ Tarn had in mind. They would be fitting for Pharma’s current situation.

 

Pharma’s optic singed with the new feed. His audials were still full of static, and Tarn’s voice was a muffled, distant murmur. Tarn. Tarn had found him. Like this. Oh, fate was not done being cruel to him. He flickered light in his optic right off. Maybe if he didn’t play ball, Tarn would throw him back into the ice and snow?

  
Highly unlikely. Probably impossible.

  
Whatever parts of Pharma were slowly online were also roiling. Tarn was right here, looming over him. He counted the days. He’d missed more than just the one drop. Well. He’d been pretty sure he’d be back with the Autobots or faked his death in Delphi and then disappeared somewhere far, far away.  
Even his death had gone wrong, because Tarn was now here, and he was the monster Pharma wanted to run from after taking out Delphi in the first place.

He didn’t respond, though Tarn could tell Pharma knew it was him. There was that nervous tic in his spark, spinning with dread. Under his mask, Tarn smiled unpleasantly.

  
“Tarn, have you seen my -- oh, he’s awake?”  
Nickel bustled into the medibay, holding thick bands of looped metal in her arms, and her sharp eyes alighted on the battered mecha on the slab. She ignored Tarn’s looming to check his vitals -- everything from the state of his optics to the pulse of his spark. She gave his wrists a derisive prod.  
“He’s supposed to be a medic,” she said, “but he’s kinda useless without his hands, ain’t he? Might know some stuff but… he’s been out there a long time. Who knows how off he is by now?”  
“It’s fine,” Tarn assured, watching Pharma. He rested his hand on Pharma’s helm, tapping it. “Repair him, his mental state does not matter. Pharma still owes me several things. If he can’t work it off with medical prowess, he’ll just have to find something else.”  
Nickel gave Tarn a suspicious look, but wasn’t inclined to argue. The mech was already half-dead already, it didn’t matter if he kicked the bucket now or later.  
“Shoo,” she waved at Tarn impatiently, “I need space to work, and you’re almost as bad as Helex and Tes.”

The looming presence left. At least, it was gone from his immediate vicinity. Pharma couldn’t relax, knowing who had picked him up out of the ice and snow. Someone was working to restore his systems, but so slowly. What kind of medic would work for Tarn? A Decepticon? Disgusting. Pharma wanted to deny them access to his frame, but it was downright impossible to move or be difficult when most of him was still frozen solid.  
It felt like hours later that the static slowly seeped from his helm, and his optic was ready to try again. This time, a lot of teal and blue metal met his sight, which was infinitely better than Tarn’s glowering mask.  
Something...someone small and round-ish was being awfully clumsy whilst fiddling with his stumps.  
“What...are you trying...to do?”  
It took him a while to speak, but he managed, vocalizer rough and nowhere near as venomous as he felt.

“It speaks,” Nickel muttered as she tried to figure how to connect all his delicate wrist bits to the blunt metal of the loops. They all looked so twiddly, it would be impossible to do anything subtle with them. So, in the end, she settled for shoving the bands in and just soldering all the severed connections to the loops. An extra bit of solder around the outside of his wrists, so the inside was protected.  
It was crude, painful, and absolutely terrible to look at.  
Nickel patted the cooling solder. All in all, good work considering the fact that this was an Autobot.  
“Wakey, wakey,” she said, waving her soldering iron, “look who just came back from the frozen Pits. If you ask very nicely, we might even let you go back.”

Pharma had only felt a distant twinge of pain. His servos had been delicate, precious, the best in the business, but his wrists didn’t retain that sort of fragile nature. He tried lifting his helm. It worked, to his surprise, there was no ice to stiffen his cables, no snow sliding into his vents. Pharma looked down at himself. Still mostly battered, his servos...  
A silent scream ran through his mind at seeing the crude butchery this unknowing ball of a mech had produced. What...were...those?!  
“What have you done? What are these?! What kind of amateur chopshop business is this?!” he was shrieking, he knew it, and he didn’t care. This was an atrocity.

“These are your new hands,” Nickel said, patting the loops. “Be grateful, because next time I’ll just shove them up your --”  
“Nickel.”  
Not looking away from Pharma, she gestured rudely at Tarn, who didn’t notice. After a while, you got used to that sort of thing. She did, however, stop talking. Tarn stepped forward, once again entering Pharma’s field of vision.  
“Hello, Pharma,” he said, radiating anticipation like a snake at the entrance of a mousehole. “How nice to see you again. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long for me.”

It felt like the ice had crawled back up over his frame. Pharma wished it had, because looking at Tarn was definitely worse than slowly freezing to death. He shuddered, involuntarily, raising stumps with useless loops. What in the Pit was he supposed to do with these pathetic excuses for appendages? Become a curtain? A sinister vision of him hanging around as Tarn’s trophy crawled into his mind. Ah. What a horrendous future. And he could do nothing to stop it.   
“Look,” this was all so ridiculously bad, everything that happened to him, that Pharma didn’t have the energy to be afraid, “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with. You don’t have anything left to hold over me. They’re all dead. I killed them. I killed them all and they’re dead and gone and you don’t have anything!” a disbelieving sort of giggle followed. Pharma could be tortured, or torn apart, it didn’t matter. Tarn couldn’t make him dance to his fiddle anymore.

“Kill you? After all the effort we put into repairing you? Perhaps the ice addled your mind more than I thought.”  
Pharma seemed a little more… unhinged than usual. A result of his extended cryogenic stasis?  
Tarn settled in, perfectly content to draw this out. Playing with Pharma was always an enjoyable past time. Tarn wanted to see how many ways he could make him wriggle this time.  
“I do have something,” he said, tapping his claws to the beginning tempo of the suite, “I have you. I won’t kill you. In fact, I will make sure you live as long as possible. You will, however, wish you perished in the snow.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Pharma told him flippantly. It didn’t. He’d already survived worse than anything that Tarn could do to him. Being humiliated and outmaneuvered by Ratchet? That was a thousand times worse than having his spark spasm and his limbs being torn apart. Being infected by his own, perfected disease? Embarrassing and deadly. He couldn’t fly, even if he wanted to.   
“Don’t you see that Tarn?”  
He almost pitied the Decepticon brute, being so slow to realize the truth.  
“You can cut me apart, you can give me agony every day, there’s nothing worse you could do to me than what’s been done. My hands...my hands...” he looked at the hooks in dismay, “my clinic, my staff, my people, all gone. The Autobots killed me long before you found me.”

Tarn chuckled at Pharma’s naivete. It was funny to think Pharma thought he really experienced the worst of life. “Don’t worry, Pharma,” Tarn told him, “you’ll understand how things work around here in due time. For now, rest. Regain some of your strength.”  
From behind Pharma, Nickel hit him with the stasis enabler. Pharma would be dead to the world again, giving Nickel the opportunity to continue to mend his injuries and Tarn to plan.  
“Tarn,” she said, still peering at Pharma’s scan results, “what’s wrong with your mech?”  
“Hm?”  
“The scans are off. Not by a wide margin, but just enough and it’s weird. I don’t like it. We found him half-dead, in the middle of this ice ball, with a bombed out clinic on the cliffs and his hands gone. The Autobots killed me. Does none of this seem weird to you? Who knows what’s wrong with him?”  
“Pharma isn’t diseased,” Tarn said, frowning. “As for the rest, leave it to me.”  
“Maybe. I don’t trust him. He’s off.”  
Tarn looked back at Pharma, examining him. Nothing about him seemed to different, besides the damage. “After he’s repaired,” Tarn said, speculative, “take him to the quiet room. He’ll be staying there.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Pharma reached consciousness, the bright light of the medibay was gone from his sight. Dual sight. Someone had repaired his optic. Not that he would be grateful. He remembered who had so benevolently ‘rescued’ him.

Tarn.

Tarn who had not yet killed him, which meant he was here for more. A quick rundown of his surroundings told him that this was definitely not what he’d call a recovery suite. There were cameras, dubious devices, cleaning drones...and he was shackled, loosely, by the hideous metal loops which offended his arms by being attached to him so crudely. Whatever Tarn had planned for him here wouldn’t be pleasant, Pharma could rest assured of that.

Still. His frame was warm, he was fueled, his systems seemed to be all operable, minus his deformed hands.

Pharma stilled after a moment of pointless struggle. Again, he was to be at Tarn’s mercy. Surely, he fixed up the medic just to discover in how many ways he could break him again. Tarn was predictable like that. Pharma felt effervescent in knowing that pain didn’t matter to him anymore. He was beyond all of that.

He wondered if Tarn’s crude little medic had discovered the red rust. And cured it? He doubted that very much. He’d spent months working out every mechanism and reaction the disease would trigger and have to possible antidotes. It was flawless work.

Pharma let his optics wander around as much as he could. Would Tarn separate his spark from his frame? It wouldn’t make him feel any more useless than he already did with his ravaged wrists. Would Tarn strip him of armor, and torture the sensors of his protoform? Pharma couldn’t imagine a pain more severe than losing layer after layer to frost damage, which slowly cracked his metal into brittle dust. Would Tarn sing to him and make his spark spasm within an inch of extinguishing? Maybe that would let Pharma feel something new.

 

It didn’t take long for Tarn to finish up his duties and venture down to the quiet room. A check of the surveillance cameras showed Pharma meekly in place, still bound and trapped. A songbird in a cage, so it seemed.

So, what songs would this bird sing?

Tarn entered confidently, slinking in with soft, smooth steps as his optics zeroed in on the would-be medic. Pharma was different in this setting -- gentler, perhaps. He didn’t have Messatine’s wintry winds offsetting his equally frigid demeanor. Reduced.

“My dear Pharma,” he drawled as he came in, “you know, when I saw Delphi’s husk, I thought you’d also be gone with it. Imagine my surprise when we found you, clinging to life as always.”

 

“Your joy was boundless, I bet.” Pharma didn’t have anything left to surround himself with except the knowledge of the circumstances that lead to his current state. The red rust. Oh, he hoped Tarn had touched him since he’d gotten on board. He hoped the mech would transform. They’d certainly be eager to give Pharma real hands then, if their precious brute commander couldn’t function without Pharma’s gift. 

Despite the acid of his tone, Pharma was happy to speak. His fear of Tarn was familiar, and he could only find relief in the warmth of the ship. Even if he was in Tarn’s torture dungeon.

 

“I do relish the opportunity to collect certain debts,” Tarn said. He then disconnected the shackles from the floor, freeing Pharma. Wrapping the chains around one fist, he yanked Pharma closer. Holding onto the chains, he anchored Pharma in place, placing a hand around his trim waist.

“Three deadlines, missed,” he said, “All in all, three dozen T-cogs gone unprovided. A massive amount, wouldn’t you agree?”

He squeezed Pharma a little. “You can’t pay it off with more cogs here, unfortunately. But you still have your uses,  _ doctor _ .”

 

“And those would be? I have no hands. No clinic.” He didn't even have enough plating to be stripped down for spare parts. Pharma was forged for one purpose, one craft perfected in his frame. Nothing more and nothing less. He was the highest quality of a mech in a functionalist age.

“Or are you suggesting a carnal use of my frame?”

The situation was perfect. Tarn touching him meant he had a higher risk of infection. If he was still healthy now, exchanging fluids with Pharma would definitely give him red rust. And then Pharma would laugh. Then they could discuss a deal.

 

“Of all your flaws, appearance has never been one of them.” However long the time he spent in the snow was, it hadn’t dented Pharma’s looks any significant amount. He didn’t have his hands and Tarn could still feel where the cold had damaged Pharma’s internals, but that was a concern for later.

Pharma was… well, he was a lot of things. Petty, for one. Arrogant. Certainly pretentious. But those could be seen as good, if only because Tarn got so much pleasure out of wringing Pharma until he squealed  _ because  _ he was such an individual. There was nothing quite like beating the haughtiness out of someone.

“So perhaps I am.”

Tarn liked the finer things in life. Good energon that delighted the senses. Music that set his mind alight. Comfort, control… indulgences in the more illicit.

“Do you protest this?”

 

“Would it matter if I did?” Pharma doubted it. His presence here was already reduced to being Tarn’s toy without any other use. Why would the medic’s consent play a role at all? He was already in a dungeon, for torture or for pleasure, it all bled into one string of being around Tarn.

And whilst some haughty part of him agreed that Tarn should absolutely make use of his beautiful frame, another protested loudly at the idea. Tarn had never sunk as low as rape. Sure, he had straddled the line with coercion. But never rape.

“You want to frag me. That’s why you fished me out of the snow?”

 

“It would.” Decepticon creed explicitly argued against the use of mechanical life as single-use toys. That’s the whole reason they fought  _ against  _ the system. Besides, Tarn himself didn’t care for it. It was… crass. And less fun.

“I didn’t actually know it was you in the snow,” Tarn answered. “Then we grabbed you and since you still  _ owed  _ me…” he let that sentence linger, letting the unsaid speak for him instead. The quiet room had a berth inside -- normally used to restrain the screaming prisoners -- but it could suit his purposes here. They hadn’t needed to use the quiet room in a long time.

He entertained the thought of making Pharma kneel. Maybe a little begging, for flavor. There was plenty of time, between hunts and battles. Pharma’s attitude would only last as long as his pain threshold. “Would you rather be tortured?”

 

“Why would you ask me that? Of course not,” Pharma wondered if Tarn had always been so lax about his punishments. Of course, Pharma had rarely let it come to that, always delivering an abundance of cogs on time, with dismay on his pretty face. Tarn had always worked with the threat of torture and death, but now that Pharma had already come so close, he wanted to avoid knowing more. He’d have to still be careful. Even if Tarn couldn’t torture him into compliance, he could still force him into some very painful experiences if not death by...any of the torture tools his crew was.

“So am I to work off my debt by pleasing your unit, or just you?”

 

“Your debt is to  _ me _ ,” Tarn said, “not my crew. I am not inclined to share.”

He was hardly going to lend Pharma out as some division-wide shareware. Pharma,  _ honestly _ . He seemed to get the silliest ideas in his head.

Tarn drummed out a rhythm on Pharma’s waist. “If you work enough, we may give your hands back. If not a medic’s, then normal ones. Then proper, medical tools. Does that please you?”

 

Ah, now it was about  _ pleasing Pharma _ . Tarn certainly seemed to change his tune quickly. It was...new? Was it? Pharma couldn’t think, his helm still annoyingly sluggish in churning out memories. How could he play Tarn’s games when he still felt half-frozen?

“I don’t want more pain,” Pharma could play coy if he wanted, and he could also play the defeated victim. To be perfectly honest, he may even have been close to his own truth with that. Only the red rust gave him hope. 

“I’ll work off my debt,” he smoothed his hip into Tarn’s grasp, “if it pleases you.”

 

Tarn appreciated it when things worked out smoothly. Everyone did. But he was also suspicious at how quickly Pharma acquiesced. He’d been expecting at least a little more grovelling and evading before defeated submission to his will. He’d been  _ hoping  _ for that. He would be reaching too far if he presumed Pharma didn’t mind interfacing with him -- he did, as he assured Tarn very loudly and frequently.

“It does please me,” Tarn replied, watching Pharma thoughtfully. He had an angle, Tarn could tell. The absolute hopelessness in his gaze wasn’t there. Some trick? Was he hoping to hurt Tarn during interface, somehow?

“Pharma,” he said softly, “let me remind you that any attempts to subvert me will end very unpleasantly for you. Quite painfully, I imagine. So in the interests of making this nice and easy, do you have something to say?”

It was unfortunate Pharma wasn’t a loyal Decepticon. It would make matters between them easier.

 

“I don’t.” Pharma didn’t like how softly Tarn could speak. It somehow was more threatening than any amount of screaming or hollering. It was just there, the promise of pain and worse, just beyond the soft, deceptively pleasant voice. Tarn knew something was wrong. Pharma hadn’t acted desperate enough. He cursed himself and fidgeted. 

“How could I possibly subvert you? I’m certainly not stupid, Tarn. I know when I am out of options.” 

He also knew he was very close to infecting the tank for a life-altering taste of revenge.

 

“Are you?” Not enough, too late. Tarn’s suspicious went from low to raising its head, sniffing the air for the poison. Tarn didn’t survive this long without a healthy dose of mistrust of what people said. His grip went from stroking Pharma to a vice instead, threatening to crush his hip joint.

“What have you done?” he asked. Pharma wasn’t  _ stupid _ , he wasn’t. But he hated, absolutely  _ hated  _ Tarn. Each time Tarn came to collect his T-cogs, each time he coerced Pharma into spreading his legs, it’d been with a curse on his lips and helpless fury at the situation. When did Pharma ever wonder if he could  _ please  _ Tarn?

 

“Apparently, said the wrong thing,” Pharma had to be stubborn about this one. The grip was painful to bear, but nothing compared to the bite of cold frost destroying his systems. He could endure. He would have his revenge, oh, it would be beautiful. 

He needed to examine Tarn without raising more suspicion. He knew the signs of his own, hand-made disease. And if Tarn killed him out of rage, he would kill himself, because no one could cure him fast enough.

There. Just a speck. Just a tiny stutter in one of his pistons. Pharma, face constricted with pain a moment ago, grinned. He was right. Tarn was infected. So very, very infected. The grin came with a giggle.

“Or maybe I did do something.”

“ _ You will regret that _ ,” Tarn said, rage unleashing his talent. The interest went to outrage -- at Pharma, at himself, at being  _ tricked _ . He crushed Pharma’s hip joint and shoved him back onto the berth. Taking hold of a wing, he began to rip it off. In bare increments, crushing it as he went. The first hinge squealed as it gave way. Wiring and circuitry popped out, frayed at the ends.

“ _ Tell me what you did. Now _ .”

 

Pharma gasped and squealed under the pain. There was no dignified way of describing it, his frame convulsing in his attempts to get away from the dual sensation of being torn apart as well as his spark, spasming wildly in Tarn’s grip.

It was hard to talk, but Pharma managed to laugh deliriously. Tarn was angry. Oh, so angry! It was wonderful. Maybe he should try and get him to completely lose his temper. To regret ever having even threatened Delphi.

But Pharma was not a patient mech. He wanted to see and indulge in the result of his hard work, now.

“It’s too late. You’re infected. Hah. You’re infected and you don’t even know it yet!”

 

_ Infected _ . A virus, then. Tarn couldn’t sense any of the symptoms in himself, but he snarled anyway, ripping the wing free and tossing it away like scrap metal.

The laughter was a new addition. Madness, brought by his isolation and icy prison?

All thoughts of a satisfying ‘face fled Tarn’s mind. He connected Pharma to the floor again, leaving him shackled. He needed to see Nickel, see what this virus was and how to heal it.


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t find anything. Are you sure he said you’re infected?”

Nickel was fussing over her scanners, trying everything from inner energon samples to spark plasma to see what the virus might be. Scrolling through her dictionary of mechanical illnesses showed nothing. Even so, she was still clad in full hazard gear to avoid accidental infection via Tarn. “Whatever it is, I can’t find it, or symptoms. I  _ told  _ you not to trust him, Tarn!”

For once, Tarn was not in the mood to entertain her. “Quiet,” he snapped, brooding as he thought. An illness. Pharma would not boast idly. He still did not feel off -- his spark was strong, his frame obeyed him, not even a speck of rust or damage to be seen.

Nickel ignored his order. “I’m taking samples of everything,” she said, bringing a tray closer, “then you go into quarantine. We can’t afford everyone else getting infected too.”

She was right, of course.

“You can stay in your quarters --”

“No.” Tarn glared at the floor, where Pharma was several decks down. “I will be staying in the quiet room. I’ll take in a console for the controls, you keep the other. Comms online at all times, avoid combat until this is sorted out. Kaon and you will have temporary command.”

Nickel hesitated. “I treated him… do think I may be infected as well?”

Damn. Tarn hadn’t considered that. “Keep your suit on,” he instructed, “and avoid sharing fuel or contact with the unit. I will get to the bottom of this. Pharma knows what he’s done.”

“Be careful. Something about that mech’s just  _ off _ .”

 

-x-

 

It was a day later that Tarn came down to the quiet room, with only the controls for the quiet room on him. Cameras were off, since he was here.

“You’re going to tell me what you did,” he said, “or I will learn how to keep you alive through excruciating torture.”

 

“Hmhm. Your medic couldn’t find it. I’m not surprised. She’s not a real medic. Maybe a mechanic for basics, but that’s all.” Pharma had been  _ waiting _ . For long hours, whilst he felt energon drip from the torn wing. Self-repair would only marginally patch up the wound, but Pharma basked in the pain. It kept him awake. It helped him keep time. When it began to tingle, he knew over five hours had passed since he last saw Tarn.

Now, it itched in a dull manner. More than twenty hours. He wouldn’t be surprised to hear how Tarn’s talking garbage can of a ‘medic’ had failed to diagnose anything. Amateur.

“Even if I told you, my dear Tarn,” Pharma delighted in this new game, “nothing could save you. You have been diligent about not transforming, I trust?”

 

Transforming? “Is it connected to that?”

_ ::Nickel, halt all transformations for now. Standby for further updates.:: _

Tarn prowled around the quiet rooms perimeters. It was less spacious and comfortable than his room -- it lacked his surround sound system, his books, even the plush berth. It was spartan, holding only tools of torture.

If Pharma didn’t cough up answers soon, he’d be a victim of those very tools.

The medic was still shackled, looking more and more smug.

 

It was cute, the way Tarn needed him for every tiny bit of information. That meant Nickel hadn’t even bothered to examine any other corpse around Delphi. What an unwise decision...

Pharma lay there, shackled, bleeding, helpless, and feeling completely victorious. Especially if Tarn threatened to kill him.

“Maybe. You could try it. Find out,” he giggled at the thought, “I bet she will feel bad when you die, not being able to help. Not even knowing what’s wrong. That would never happen to me. I have professional pride. A code, if you will.”

 

“Are you jealous of Nickel?” Tarn went behind Pharma, examining him. Still damaged -- apparently, more on the inside than he thought. Would pain work on Pharma? Tarn had met a few who handled pain well -- Overlord came to mind -- and those few rarely ever broke no matter how much they hurt.

He put his hands on Pharma’s shoulders. Tarn rarely needed to cajole people -- pain was a stick that worked for the wide majority. But Grindcore had taught him that sometimes, you don’t  _ need  _ pain to subvert people. Just the right carrot… and patience.

“Do you still have your code? Even now, after everything?”

 

“My code is mine to alter and adjust. I have adjusted. You made me adjust. I was so good. Such a model Autobot, so good. Never lost a patient.” Pharma was easily ready to divulge his laments, the blame he put on Tarn for changing his fate. If it wasn’t for the tankformer, Delphi would continue to be running right now and the worst annoyance Pharma would have to put up with was Ambulon. That bumbling buffoon.

“Still never lost a patient. Killed a lot, but not lost. I’m the best. Even now. Ratchet took my hands, He took them, I know it. I knew he was jealous. Always said no, but I knew. That’s why he went away. That’s why he never called. That’s why he should have died. Should have died and gone quietly. You won’t go quietly either. You want to hurt me but you can’t. I’m already dead.”

 

“A  _ good  _ Autobot,” Tarn said, his tone considering. “Perhaps you were, Pharma. But you’re not a good Autobot anymore now, are you? Good Autobots don’t do what you did.”

Pharma’s sanity was questionable, but his core character always stayed the same. Tarn stroked his shoulders, carefully selecting his words.

“You’re still a good medic now, however, hands or no hands. Yours was stolen, but remember what I said?”

Tarn leaned in closer, his field expanding around them. It didn’t mingle freely with Pharma’s, but circled the edges, waiting to swallow the medic up. “I can give your hands  _ back _ . Return what was stolen from you. It’s such a shame that such  _ skill  _ must be hampered like this.”

Careful, careful. Tread around Pharma’s buttons, sense his weakness, and strike when he was blind. Tarn didn’t need threats when Pharma could easily turn himself over for Tarn’s use.

 

“You wouldn’t. You never wanted my skill. You never appreciated it either,” Pharma didn’t mind giving Tarn a good idea of the scope of emotions he could pull from the crippled medic. 

“You used me for convenience. Because I cared. You gave me disgusting loops for hands. Why would you give me my hands back? You wouldn’t. Or you would, to take them away again. You’re a Decepticon. Lying is your first nature,” Pharma tried to look at Tarn, but his helm just lolled to the side. There was no strength in his frame but the stubborn, crazy lilt of his mental state.

“You can’t change that. And you know what else you can’t change? That if I die, you die with me. Isn’t it romantic? You, my tormentor, my dear nightmare, will die with me. I think so.” A content, lazy smile spread on Pharma’s face.

 

“Have I lied to you, Pharma?” Careful, careful. Such a  _ bad  _ mental state. Pharma was getting more and more unhinged the longer they talked -- or maybe his mental state was just becoming more evident.

“I told you I could give them  _ back _ ,” Tarn insisted, “did you assume these would be permanent? Hardly. If I didn’t care, why would you even be here, alive? We could have left you out in the snow.”

_ Romantic?  _ Another idea began to bloom in Tarn’s mind as he waited, watched.

 

“You didn’t know it was me. You said so yourself,” Pharma smirked. Even if he was barely capable of thinking beyond the next couple of hours, he still had paid attention to Tarn’s words. Every slip was a weapon in this game that meant his life and death. And Tarn’s. If he revealed more of the red rust’s existence, it wouldn’t matter. Nickel could never cure Tarn without Pharma’s memories and knowledge. Or herself and anyone she’d touched since ‘treating’ him.

 

“And I could have ordered you be dumped. Simple.”

Tarn looked at the damage he inflicted. It had to hurt terribly. Repairing it would go a long way in ensuring some goodwill between them. An idea for later. Tarn’s field inched closer, taking up more and more of Pharma’s field. He wouldn’t use his voice yet.

 

“You wanted to use me more.” Pharma accused. He didn’t try to dislodge the field that closed in on his so tightly, he just let it be. Tarn could use every weapon in the book on him, he wouldn’t give in. He didn’t have to be frightened anymore.

“And now you want to hurt me more, until I tell you what you have. But Tarn...it doesn’t matter. If I die, you die. If I cure you, I die. I’m not stupid. You won’t keep me alive.”

 

“What makes you think I would kill you?” Despair was as good as fear. Tarn fed on it, empowered it. His talent creeped in, pushing more sorrow at Pharma. Not too much that he’d notice, but pushing that fragile state a little more to the edge with each syllable. “Haven’t I always kept my word on Messatine? T-cogs for your clinic. Your body for your debts. What makes you think I would break my deal with you?”

 

“You will tire of my frame,” Pharma could feel it settle in, just like the cold. A panicked little hiccup in his turbine was all the physical response he could muster as the cloying sense of loneliness returned to him. He’d die down here. Yes, with Tarn as company. But alone, unappreciated if not hated. Certainly hated. Someone out there did. Probably Ratchet. Pharma was meant for so much more than this. His victory began to crumble in on itself, the stronger the despair took hold of him. 

“You’ll put me back. If you won’t kill me you’ll put me back in the snow.”

Vents flaring, Pharma tried to keep himself calm, without much success.

 

“I’m not a liar,” Tarn purred, pulling Pharma closer until his turbine brushed Tarn’s chest. He leaned in, until Pharma could see the purple of his masl through the corner of his optic. “What if I promised I wouldn’t kill you, or put you in the snow? You could stay, safe and warm, with your hands…”

“... make a deal with me, my dear doctor. A simple deal, you remember how that works, don’t you?”

 

“A deal...but what for? My safety for your cure?” Pharma listened, and some part of him knew this was Tarn’s game. That he was capable of Pharma’s destruction and his salvation. It was such an old exchange between them, and yet it still tingled, fear warring with every impulse to live and carry on.

“That’s not enough. I don’t trust you.” the smile returned, faintly, though it wasn’t as confident as before.

“I made it just for  _ you _ . If you transform once, you’ll trigger symptoms even your mechanic will notice.”

 

“I’m flattered.” Tarn sorted through the other things he could offer. Pharma’s safety, his hands…

“Your safety, your hands… and research. What you did was very impressive. Nickel couldn’t detect what you did, nothing could. You made a virus that could have crippled all of Cybertron in one go, all by yourself.”

It was actually impressive.  _ Very  _ much so. It deserved further exploration.

“What makes you think I would squander such a useful mech like you?”

 

“I’m not a Decepticon. I’m trying to kill you,” Pharma reminded the tankformer, who should be crushing more of his limbs rather than compliment him. He hadn’t made Tarn angry enough, that much was obvious. Pharma wondered if he could force his nightmare back into it. Was it threat of his unit, or the fact that Pharma could outplay him that brought him to such heights?

 

“You’re not an Autobot either. And you’ve yet to succeed.” He certainly succeeded more than the rest had. There weren’t many who tried to  _ convince  _ him that they shouldn’t be saved. It was funny, kind of, but Pharma had experience with Tarn’s deals. He knew what they were like.

 

“You despise me.” Pharma did make an effort now to look up, but he could only see a little part of Tarn’s mask. Nothing that would reveal any clues. Pharma wasn’t wary, but he was cautious. Tarn wanted something else of him now, that was certain, but it was completely new ground. And he’d still require healing, which would go against every ounce of pleasure Pharma had derived out of the thought of dying with Tarn.

“I despise you. Aren’t we beyond deals yet, Tarn? I would never make the red rust for you to use. I want to watch you die.”

 

“Have we ever moved beyond deals? I doubt it. Don’t you want to witness your creation to its fullest extent? A few deaths here and there… for a petty satisfaction that dies with you. Why that, when you can witness it properly?”

Did Tarn hate Pharma? Not really. He hated the Autobots, and he hated Functionism, and he hated traitors. Pharma didn’t fit in that paradigm. 

 

“My satisfaction in knowing you dead is plenty,” Pharma growled, though there was no real threat to his voice. He just wasn’t capable of it. Snide commentary? Venomous retorts? All of those were his realm. Threats of physical violence? Absolutely not.

“Remember that it is your fault I lost everything. My reputation. My clinic. My code. My hands.”

Pharma really missed his servos. Without them, he was less, he was nothing. He was an empty husk, a handsome, useless frame.

Tarn couldn’t find hands like that on any convenient corpse. Tarn certainly couldn’t manufacture them.

“I’m tired, Tarn. Leave me be.”

 

“All that  _ obsession  _ with the past,” Tarn said, refusing to let up. “Do you think you  _ really  _ had anything, Pharma? How naive of you.”

This was the only berth in the quiet room. Tarn was hardly going to vacate it any time soon. “You reputation -- it must’ve been  _ very  _ grand, what with your isolated location in the corner of the galaxy… oh.  _ Never mind _ .”

“Your clinic -- a tiny, glorified rest stop for miners. Bit of a step down from Autobot Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, who treated Primes and Senators of the Golden Age, wouldn’t you agree?”

“And your  _ code _ .” Tarn’s tone grew cruel. “A code that you gave up so you could live. A code that has strayed so far from your original path, it may well be another creature entirely.”

One by one, Tarn skewered Pharma’s accomplishments through the core, reducing them to the scraps that they were. “I didn’t even  _ take  _ your hands. You said Ratchet did. For someone you’re supposed to be better than, you’re failing in that regard, aren’t you?”

“What did you have, Pharma? Because what I see isn’t all that impressive.” 

 

It cost Pharma energon and strength he didn’t have to roll himself to the side, trying to avoid having to look at Tarn at all. Each concise slashing of his accomplishments was another loosened memory in his mind, and that pain was so much worse than Tarn ripping off a wing. The medic didn’t wince, but he shuddered. Rage and helpless anger mingled in his field, the only form of expression he had left that wouldn’t leave him in relative agony.

But he had to remember. This was Tarn. Now that he knew physically hurting Pharma was downright impossible (or rather, making sure he yielded through the pain), he was using words to harm him, cut him down.

“I have nothing but you and your death, I know, Tarn. It’ll be my best accomplishment yet, and you’re just one bad, filthy brute Decepticon. No one will know it was me. And that is a shame. But you will know. You will know it was me. Just a medic you pushed too far.”

 

“So  _ eager  _ to kill me, aren’t you? I do suppose it’s understandable -- you have nothing but me. Nothing but me to look forward to, nothing but the vague hope of my death will give you something to call your own. I just didn’t think you’d be so ready, or eager, to  _ die _ .”

Tarn shifted, bringing Pharma closer. The anger he felt from him was delicious. It tasted like victory, getting closer. The chain had enough slack to let Pharma lean against him, as Tarn patted him almost mockingly. “Have you lost all hope?”

 

“There’s no such thing. There are plans, deals, and revenge. Hope is for the fickle-minded that aren’t smart enough for the first three.” Pharma let Tarn hold him. Some parts of him even liked it, if only because the heavy warframe was so warm. The jet still didn’t feel fully thawed, even if all his internals registered no ice and no more cold burn.

Tarn was warm. And alive. And so sick. One transformation would spell his doom. Pharma adored the very notion of Tarn’s addiction, the very thing that brought him to Delphi, would be his undoing. He nuzzled the horribly thick plating.

“It’s not hope that drives me. It’s certainty. Your death belongs to me, just like you caused mine.”

 

“Then if I give you your life, then my life belongs to you, does it not?” Hardly. Tarn’s life belonged to only one mech, and Pharma was nothing like Megatron. “New hands, a new lease on life. Everyone has heard of the DJD. You would be known, and feared. And with that… comes the chance for  _ revenge _ .”

Pharma enjoyed the contact, if his nuzzling was any sign. Tarn laid back, pulling the medic with him. It took maneuvering all the pieces on the board to get Pharma in position. Even a little bit, like Tarn’s heat, would serve as a boost to his purposes.

“Revenge on Ratchet. After all, he took your hands. He took your clinic. If it’d been just me, I would have come and collected my cogs. You might have even infected me without my knowing, and watched me die. It won’t happen though, because of Ratchet’s interference.”

 

Tarn made sense. For all their games played, he understood how revenge worked. How sweetly it would have worked it out, were it not for Ratchet. Maybe Pharma needed to consider the timing of his revenge. Yes, he would get Tarn. But that was a given. He already had him. And if Tarn died, the DJD would kill Pharma and Ratchet would enjoy his life until his dying day.

Hm. Carefully, Pharma plotted out this new possibility. Work with Tarn. Cure him, for now. For a while. He could always try to suppress the red rust and have it return later, when the DJD had served his purposes.

“I know you’re trying to get a deal out of me,” Pharma rested his cheek against Tarn’s chest, sighing with relief with warmth seeped into his frame. He never wanted to set foot onto Messatine ever again.

“But you make a valid little point. Your life is mine. And Ratchet has to pay. They all have to pay. The High Command. They left me. I asked, I begged for reinforcement, for help. Nothing. No one came, no one answered. They all have to pay, Tarn. I want them to suffer. I want to make them suffer.”

 

“They left you behind, didn’t they?” Tarn tightened the noose around Pharma’s neck, idly stroking him as his field consumed Pharma’s yet again. “Left you, when I came. Ignored you, when I threatened you. And finally they killed you, when even I haven’t. Isn’t it funny that even now, it was  _ me  _ who saved you from the snow?”

Tarn could work with this impetus. A few more dead Autobots was always a good sign. “You know what has to happen, Pharma,” he purred, putting his arm around him. “You know what I want.”

 

“But it was so perfect,” Pharma whispered, optics dim as Tarn’s field and warmth did what all the pain in the world couldn’t have achieved in the battered medic, “I had you. I had you the moment you touched me. You couldn’t help yourself...always touching me. I’m infected. You’re infected. Your whole crew may be. But it’s alright,” Pharma drew close to the mech he hated, so much so that it kept him alive through hell, “I will make it better next time. Ratchet will watch everything he cares for die. His friends. His people. All of them. And I will cut his hands off of him. One. Two, three...” Pharma counted each digit he would sever, slowly, intimately, until Ratchet knew what kind of war he had started.

“Give me hands. Give me a medibay. I’ll cure you, and you let me have what I am owed.”


	5. Chapter 5

_ Hook. Line. And sinker. _

Pharma’s rambling was entertaining, as was the deal he offered. It was so cute of him to think he had any power. Infection or not, Tarn always had his way. Satisfaction made his mood mellow, and Tarn allowed his engine to rumble, bringing more heat to his plating.

He brought Pharma up a little more, to rest his hand on Pharma’s hip. It was still crushed, but Tarn’s touch was gentle.

“Deal,” he said after the pause, “I can work with that.”

His hand strayed lower, to Pharma’s thigh. It fit in his grip cozily, his fingers nearly touching with how easily he encircled it. “You need repairs. I can do basic first aid, and once you’re out, Nickel can finish it up. Agreed?”

 

Pharma’s mood soured as soon as Tarn mentioned his mechanic. Her deft touch had not been well-received, nor had her lack of expertise to Pharma’s standards.

“Just give me hands. I can fix myself. I do not require... _ Nickel’s _ aid.” It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even envy. It was the lack of medical perfection which bothered Pharma. Why would Tarn make due with less? Wasn’t he one to pride himself on the capabilities of his crew? 

Still. Nickel was part of the DJD, for whatever reason, and Pharma was not here to deepen the trench. He already hated them all anyway.

Warmth radiated up through his thigh plating. Pharma offered a pleased sigh. If Tarn could surround all of him, he may not feel the cold gnaw at him anymore.

 

“You would rather go unrepaired than have Nickel work on you?” Strange. What had Nickel done to earn his ire?

Repair Pharma now, or go for what he’d been expecting since Pharma got on-board? Questions, questions. Tarn had little interest in sadistic interface, but Pharma was pretty regardless of damage. He didn’t sound too opposed either, if his sounds were any indication. Tarn’s hand dipped to between his legs, drawing lines down his inner thighs. The cure for this infection was needed, and soon. Tarn couldn’t leave quarantine until he was cured.

 

Tarn’s touch was close to expected, and Pharma didn’t move away from it. True, he also didn’t have that much energy to work with, but Tarn’s warm, eager hands could do wonders to bring up his heat. Having the tankformer encourage his systems into reaction was, medically, definitely the easy and lazy fix for his temperature sensors, which were definitely still damaged.

“I didn’t say unrepaired. But her standard of work won’t do for a frame like mine,” Pharma encouraged a little more, trapping Tarn’s hand to grind over it gently, “unless you’d like me to look botched?”

 

“You could guide her. Tell her what to do, how to do it.” Whether Nickle would take such guidance without strenuous argument was yet to be seen. Still, she’s managed to fix the division adequately for her time onboard. Pharma may be the better medic, but she was the one who had hands.

The quick reaction to his touch was pleasant. It was a reminder that Pharma may hate him, but found little to protest during the moment of interface, since he liked it (though it would be a cold day in the Pits before he admitted that to Tarn). He obliged in turn, tracing the seams for Pharma’s valve. Three deadlines come and gone, three chances for satisfaction, come and gone. Tarn wanted his debts collected, thank you.

 

“I’m not here to teach your mechanic how to be something she’s not,” Pharma retorted, completely detached from what he was doing with his hips. Tarn’s warmth was addictive, and he was definitely interested in paying off his debt. He’d been dead for the better part of ten days. In pain for the last two. A little interfacing would give him sweet relief.

Now that it wasn’t for free and he had a deal with Tarn, he could indulge all he wanted. His seams were reluctant to release though, just barely producing a little warmth instead of the heat that could pour off of Pharma when he was in the mood.

 

Tarn’s engine became louder as he pushed it harder, heat pouring off him to combat the chill he could detect from Pharma. He’d been thawing out slowly, and some of his internals might still have ice where the heat hadn’t fully penetrated. Pharma’s chains would be another problem as well.

Hm.

Stopping for now, Tarn rolled off the berth. He pulled Pharma along with him, nudging his legs down so Pharma’s chest still rested on the berth. Tarn stood behind him, but their relative heights would make things difficult. For that, he leaned down, until he nearly lay on top of Pharma. His hand returned to Pharma’s panel, while his other explored transformation seams.

 

The position left him feeling bereft until Tarn leaned closer again. Pharma didn’t have the power to roll himself around and demand from Tarn, not the way he once could. During interface, Tarn could be anything from gentle to voracious, from playful to industrious. And that’s what Pharma could appreciate about him. It was never a dull experience.

In pain, cold, bleeding and weak, he’d still want Tarn to frag him into a blissful heat. That was a given he didn’t question in the slightest. His array made more of an effort, but when the panel half-heartedly tried to open, Pharma felt the grind of icy crystals moving between his sensitive internals. He whimpered. 

 

No matter how Tarn touched Pharma, his panel remained stubbornly shut. It was almost enough to frustrate him, especially when his array was beginning to ping him. Tarn let his panel withdraw -- he was ready, Pharma could know that -- and began to hum. If Pharma wouldn’t open on his own, Tarn could offer some casual encouragement.

_ Heat _ , came the soft, tuneless hum,  _ desire. Urge, need.  _ The time for a careful, measured interface was later. Tarn had some excess energy to burn off.

 

Tarn’s hummed encouragement did the trick. As the panel slid back, slowly, the liquid that dripped out was not of the pleasant, anticipating kind. Icy cold water ran from Pharma’s array, which had been in a near frozen state for days, since the heat he produced flowed to vital systems only. The medic shivered as slushy ice dripped from his usually heated valve. The temperature of the room alone was just a bare breeze of what he wanted, and needed. But the heat pouring off of Tarn...that, he wanted. Rasping over the berth wasn’t really possible, he was completely at Tarn’s mercy to move him at all. 

“I’m so cold...” he whispered.

 

“Not for long,” Tarn promised. He felt the water on his hand -- it was far, far too cold for his preferences. A shudder ran through his heated systems. It wasn’t too unpleasant, but it was… different. He went for the noe, though his own impatience only made him give it a few, cursory rubs before his spike came into play.

Rubbing it against Pharma’s valve sent another shock of cold through Tarn, through a much more sensitive area. Even as the tip of his spike ran through the plush lining, his plating rattled as he shivered again, breathing out hot air as his frame sent his heat output higher in response to cold.

The ice melted in proximity to him. It went from freezing to a pleasant slide of warm water, and Tarn pinned Pharma with his bulk as he thrust in. Pharma wasn’t prepared at all -- he would hurt.

Good. Tarn wasn’t completely forgiving of his little stunt.

 

It did hurt. Pharma made some very unpleasant little moans of pain, pressing his helm down harder on the berth. But the slide and melting of the ice, that felt amazing. The medic would gladly suffer a damaged valve for the privilege of feeling the heat course through his frame. Just a little more. More than his engine could provide right now. 

His icy valve clenched around Tarn’s spike, greedy for the heat and accepting of its girth. Pharma couldn’t recall ever interfacing for the sake of frame temperature before.

He wanted Tarn’s heavy engine right against him, surrounding him from all angles if possible.

 

If it were possible, Pharma was even colder  _ inside _ . Tarn shivered again, as his spike slid into Pharma’s valve. Still pleasantly tight and reactionary, the chill was a new addition he couldn’t decide how to feel on. On one hand, it was new and stimulating. On the other hand, it was  _ cold _ .

Tarn braced himself on his arm, wrapping the other around Pharma. Pressing himself down on the medic, he began to thrust. With enough motion, the cold could be banished, right? 

 

The grating friction, the burn of each caliper, unprepared and yet being stretched, each new pain was welcomed by Pharma. It cut through the numb sensors, enlightened him as to what still functioned, what Tarn could hurt with his rough thrusts and awaken through warmth pouring into the medic. His frame jerked on the berth, uncomfortably restrained but willing to take what Tarn gave him.

“Warm...” He moaned, finally trying to meet Tarn’s motion. Each one offered him a little more, seeping into the very depths of him. Pharma hummed, nowhere near close to building charge, but finally free of ice.

 

At last, the cold relented. Tarn still couldn’t say it all felt nice and warm again, but it was getting there. He thrust faster, trying to urge more heat into Pharma’s systems. Pharma was on the dry side as well -- a result of his long-term freeze, most likely. The water was enough, but not  _ good _ .

“ _ Come on, Pharma _ ,” Tarn urged, trying to get Pharma’s frame to heat up faster, “ _ this will be better if you’re not half-frozen.” _

Tarn liked responsive partners. Currently, Pharma was the exact opposite of that, besides the occasional whimper when a chunk of ice melted. 

 

Pharma had some choice, bitter thoughts about the fact that he was actually, physically half-frozen and probably could have done with being locked in a heating chamber rather than warmed up via spiking, but he also didn’t have the mind to insult Tarn right now and miss out on interfacing. The voice certainly pulled his sluggish systems into playing nice, hesitant sensory nodes flaring a little, starting to produce their own heat and even some droplets of transfluid which was so desperately needed.

Without hands to position himself, Pharma increasingly landed on his own face, every time he tried to move his aft and hips closer to Tarn. The heat on his array was heavenly by now and the medic was beginning to feel more normal...No longer did the ice and snow grip his every circuit.

Tarn’s voice also forced his spark plugs to fire for charge and that, that was where the heat that normally needed to cycle away came from.

Suddenly, Pharma felt very warm, all the way to his core, his calipers spiralling, adjusting, gripping Tarn, as if only now realizing their task. The next moan from Pharma was far louder and more enthusiastic. 

 

The situation abruptly turned as Tarn’s voice seemed to do the final trick needed to get Pharma going. Tarn grinned under his mask as the medic moaned, enthusiasm for the ‘face growing now that he wasn’t dealing with a stiff, cold Pharma. Chill water, rapidly heating, ran down their legs. Most of what was on Tarn sizzled into nothingness as his engine roared and he held Pharma tightly.

“ _ Much better _ ,” Tarn said, approving. He could feel Pharma’s systems beginning to heat -- his plating inched up in temperature, producing its own rather than sucking in Tarn’s. The room around them grew warmer. Pharma’s damage was still glaringly obvious, but neither noticed as the moment went from lifeless to growing passion.

 

Of course they were here, again. Pharma purred as heat and vibration and force applied to his valve, his sensors and nodes flaring nicely. Nothing could make a mech feel as alive as a good interface and Pharma was no exception there.

But even though the situation was becoming much more desperate and passionate, it also struck him as funny. He’d come here, or rather, been brought here, to kill Tarn. Every time they touched like this, it thickened Pharma’s control over Tarn’s future. Oh sure, he’d made a deal. But Pharma was an expert at bending the truth to his needs. This deal would be no different, as long as it worked out in a way that gave Pharma all the advantages he needed.

Tarn was hitting the ceiling cluster by now and Pharma almost yowled in pleasure. Oh, this greedy, greedy Decepticon. Even when Pharma tried to kill him, his hunger and need for the medic only grew. Pharma felt his charge building, life pouring into his cold frame by the second. He smiled into the berth. Winning, he decided, could take many different shapes, but he definitely was, as of this moment.

 

_ Ah _ . Tarn had missed this. There was nothing quite like a good ‘face. Winning a tough fight, transforming… they all provided pleasure in one way. But interfacing with Pharma was less of a thrill and more of a satisfaction of a deeper want. He was warming up properly, heat and fluid building up in him, and Tarn’s lust grew higher.

Some might call his attraction to Pharma’s frame a weakness. It was true, in some way -- Tarn liked what he saw,  _ wanted  _ what he saw. It would never be enough to make him stupid, however. Pharma would die, or suffer, if he hurt Tarn or his crew. He had, and Tarn had taken his pay for that. He would return the debt, with interest. Even the burn of not being able to transform was blunter with Pharma’s frame to distract him. However long the cure took, Tarn would occupy himself with his newest distraction.

He overloaded in Pharma, transfluid filling up his valve as Tarn hunched over him, heat flowing out of his seams in a hard rush. It wasn’t satisfying enough to tire him -- the missed time had been enough to put Tarn’s newly acquired frame hunger to the keen edge. Transfluid gushed around his spike as he pushed onward, refusing to let up even as white sparks of charge skipped down his arms.

 

Pharma didn’t get the chance to try and join Tarn in his overload, instead being pushed, rushed right onwards. It wasn’t a bad sensation and hot flood of transfluid was absolutely welcomed throughout his valve, but it was definitely a sign of Tarn’s impatience and hunger.

Had he not interfaced with anyone else? Did he not have another outlet? Or was he just so beguiled by Pharma’s frame that he couldn’t possibly react with a tempered amount of desire?

When Tarn fragged him relentlessly through his own overload, without giving Pharma remotely room or time to appreciate coiling heat, the medic couldn’t help laughing. This was ridiculous. Even on the verge of being the death of one another, they were interfacing. 

 

_ What? _

Was that a  _ laugh _ ? Tarn’s thrusts slowed as he glanced at Pharma’s face. Did… did he usually laugh during interface? Tarn didn’t recall any particular times he did. So…

“ _ Something amusing? _ ” he tried, a little befuddled. He was muzzy from his overload, but that could hardly be ignored now. This all felt good, anyway, and Pharma’s little laugh actually made him spasm in a way that felt  _ very  _ good.

Tarn rested his helm on Pharma’s shoulder. Perhaps it was just a one-time incident.

 

“No. Yes. A little bit?” Pharma was breathless from the ruthless and vigorous motions, unable to keep himself in place. Tarn’s bulk had him pinned, which was a good thing, because if Tarn could look him in the face right now, he’d see Pharma’s amusement.

“Don’t you think it’s a little funny how,” he gasped a little as he shoved back hard enough to have his array collide with the base of Tarn’s spike, hard, “we end up like this? I’m not complaining, but it’s got a funny note to it.”

 

“ _ You seem to like it enough anyway _ .” Not to mention the fact that Tarn would have gotten an interface out of Pharma before killing him. The deeper examination of  _ why  _ they always got physically entangled could wait.

“ _ I think it’s just how our deals work _ .” We do this, we do that, we always ‘face regardless of who was the winner. Tarn didn’t see the humor in it, despite what Pharma said. If he was capable of even thinking this, then Tarn wasn’t distracting him enough.

“ _ Does it matter? _ ”

 

“No,” Pharma breathed, dimming his optics and melting back into Tarn’s frame, completely unabashed about how much he liked doing this, even if he despised Tarn. The tankformer was a spike of convenience and that was all, but that didn’t mean his spike wasn’t utterly pleasant. Somewhere along the line of their deals, Pharma had lost all taste for civilised partners in interfacing. Now, only thick, bulky warframe spikes could meet his needs.

Another thing that Tarn had caused in his mission to ruin Pharma’s life.

“All that matters is how good it feels.”

 

Tarn could agree with that sentiment entirely. He hauled Pharma’s hips closer, so that they met in the middle with a harsh  _ clang  _ when Tarn sank into Pharma fully, ridges drawing a ruthless trail all over Pharma’s bottom-most nodes. Their individual creeds really had no space here, nor their antagonism. For this, it was all satisfaction of the frame that only they could fulfill for each other. Tarn craved Pharma, so he had him. It was simple.

With Pharma’s stay on the  _ Peaceful Tyranny,  _ Tarn had unfettered physical access to him. It might not last, so Tarn would absolutely have to make every use of the fact that he had a willing medic to release tension on.

“ _ You will stay here, with me _ ,” he said, “ _ and we’ll see if you still think that after the next few months. _ ”


	6. Chapter 6

Her soldering was so _ slow _ . Pharma could lose his mind, watching Nickel work. There was no veil of polite conversation between them, Pharma sitting on the slab, Nickel standing on it and over him to work. He had not left the ‘quiet’ room in all the time it took the DJD to track down some new hands (amongst other things) for him. He was fuelled and spent every day at Tarn’s disposal, but that was it.

The cold had long since left him. Tarn made sure of that.

Tarn also made sure that his panel wasn’t part of his repairs. Only his wing and the crushed hip-joint had been restored, but once the covering layer of plating had been torn off during a very vigorous session, it had never been replaced. Pharma didn’t care. His valve was beautiful, and if anyone else ever entered the quiet room, they’d surely be pleased to see it.

“If you connect them individually before finishing the solder, the process would be much faster.”

 

“The process would be faster if you shut up.” Nickel stabbed deeper into his pompous little wrists harder than needed. She wanted to shove her iron in Pharma’s optic, but it seemed Tarn’s spike overrode his common sense. She still did as he said; his low quality of character didn’t reflect on his medical skills.

She hadn’t expected Tarn to be the type to pick up a mistress. You learn something new everyday, it seems. She could see why -- anyone with optics and half a brain module could see Pharma was attractive -- but he was also such a pain in the aft, it was amazing Tarn hadn’t ripped his pretty face off.

“You know, I could be working on your fancy pants virus too, if you just gave me the  _ code  _ for it.” Glitch wouldn’t. He was irritating and petty like that. Nickel stabbed him again, imagining his blue optic cracking under the soldering iron. Damn Tarn. Damn Pharma. Damn Pharma for sucking Tarn’s wits out through his spike. And damn his twiddly little parts that kept straying away from her iron.

 

Pharma grinned at her incompetence. As if she could decipher his masterful work. He was a forged medic who had worked for the elite of Cybertron, lived in Upper Tetrahex and enjoyed every ounce of respect in the high society he’d kept before the war. 

His work was not for such lowly mechanics such as this bulky little waste of his time.

“Still can’t find a symptom, can you? It’s a miracle at all you know how to perform a transplant. I bet if I take a look at Tarn’s cradle, I’ll find post-trauma plasma all over his lines.”

He didn’t like that someone else was fixing, touching and tending to Tarn. It had always been their kind of strange intimacy, and it shouldn’t be so easily remedied with the presence of Nickel. As if she could be anything like Pharma.

His wrists ached, but he didn’t want her to stop. At this point, any servos would do. Even if they weren’t his beautiful, original pieces. 

 

“Oops.” She scalded a sensitive circuit with the iron. “Oops again.” Her hand  _ slipped  _ once more. If she heard anymore smart comments, it would be slipping into his valve. “I guess I’m just this clumsy.”

Little slag. He must be completely different around Tarn, if the tankformer found  _ him  _ tolerable. “What makes you think that Tarn will want you to open him up, anyway? You’re a good medic, but you’re also crazier than the Pet. Less loveable, too.”

Pharma was getting on her nerves. Maybe he didn’t talk with Tarn. Perhaps that’s why Tarn didn’t weld his mouth shut. Maybe she could do that, and cite a bullslag medical reason for why Pharma has to walk around with a muzzle.

Or, maybe Tarn shuts him up by putting something in his mouth.  _ That actually makes sense _ .

 

“He knows I’m the best at transplants. I’ve done them for him...again and again,” Pharma smirked now, parting his thighs with absolutely no shame. If Nickel was trying to make him feel like a pet, she was far too late. Pharma had a pretty good idea of what kind of effect he had on Tarn, who couldn’t transform. Tarn, who fragged him so hard and frequently that the mere sight of him could make Pharma  _ drip _ . 

“Amongst other things I have a feeling he wouldn’t do with you.”

 

Nickel paused her soldering. She blinked.

“Did you just…?”

_ He did. He totally did! _

“Ha… haha... hahahahahaha!” She cackled loudly, bending over to support herself with her hands on her knees. Her wings shook with the force of her howls, beating the berth a few times for good measures. “Are you  _ serious _ ? Hah! This too rich! You just… you just tried to  _ catfight  _ me. Over  _ Tarn _ !”

It took a few minutes for the wild laughter to subside. There were a few false calls, but she only had to look at Pharma’s preposterous posturing with his  _ valve  _ before she fell down into gales of laughter again.

“Oh,  _ sweetspark _ , I will assure you right now, that I have never been interested in Tarn like that.  _ Ever _ .” She got to soldering again, her sour mood considerably lighter. “First off, Tarn is far too large. Secondly, I don’t find him attractive. And  _ third _ , he’s more like my errant patient than anyone I would ever be attracted to.”

She gave Pharma a shrewd look. “Besides, sweetspark, if you wanna compare  _ experience _ \-- I know all of Tarn’s  _ embarrassing  _ medical history. And I’ve seen his face. Have you?”

What a tool. Tarn had lower standards than even Tes.

 

Pharma turned his head away. That was undignified, he had to admit. His jealousy had gotten the better of him, and of course it was all Tarn’s fault. His face...he had a monstrous one, in Pharma’s nightmares. Something cruel and deformed and wicked, with searing optics that haunted the strongest of minds.

“I don’t want to. I despise him.”

And yet he was willing to fight this tiny mechanic for what, Tarn’s medical care? He was letting himself lose sight of what was important here.

“He’s mine.”

 

“You hate him, but he’s yours, eh?” Oooooh.  _ Ooooooh _ . There was something juicy going on here. Was Tarn’s mistress  _ in love  _ with him? Nickel had no doubt Tarn himself saw nothing more than his cure and a tight valve, but this added a whole new dimension!

“So if I were to say I could describe it, you would be obviously uninterested. A shame, I think I had a picture.”

 

Pharma’s helm snapped back to Nickel, optics bright and obviously interested. Tarn’s face...he thought about it. A lot. Considering how much they interfaced, it was amazing he still found something to fantasise about, but Tarn’s face was definitely it. Pharma’s mad dreams were less about a spike rammed tight into a valve, but Tarn’s defences completely down, the horrid mech vulnerable and soft and that’s exactly when Pharma would kill him. Those were dreams had him smile. 

“You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t show me.”

Nickel was the only other contact that Pharma had. He’d never been allowed to walk around the Peaceful Tyranny. He wondered if that would change, and if someone would pry the battered Autobot badge from his chest.

 

“You wanna bet on that?” She didn’t have a picture, that was a death wish. But she could describe it, very well. It was distinct, Tarn’s face, and good-looking. Unlike Pharma, however, she wasn’t losing her mind over it.

What a little fool. She almost pitied him now. All this inflated sense of independence and worth… all of it built on his face and valve. He would be broken once Tarn left him. Or killed him.

“He takes it off, you know. When he wants a drink, or needs to get his mask repaired. Who knows… if Tarn does make you his personal medic, you might get to see what’s under the mask. Feel it.  _ Play  _ with it.”

Hah.

As if.

 

“I’m sure he will,” There was no if about it for Pharma. Why else would Tarn give him his hands back now? For their deal? This didn’t count. These weren’t HIS hands. They were alright, functional, but nothing special. Pharma would forge his own, anew, better.

And if everything went to plan, Nickel would have to endure his presence in a much larger capacity, because he needed her medibay to work.

“It doesn’t matter how hideous he is. We have a deal.”

Fragging every day wasn’t exactly part of it, but it happened nonetheless. And Pharma...well, he loved it. He never dared to think further than his current excuse, but he definitely loved it.

 

“You think he’s ugly?” Wow. Tarn’s mistress didn’t pull any punches, did he? “Why frag him, then, if you think he’s ugly? Does the mask  _ help _ ?”

He was a curiosity, aboard their ship. The unit tried to avoid thinking about his presence too deeply -- or why Tarn seemed to always have the cameras off. Nickel had no such compunctions. Her unit was her business.

“You should get your valve checked. Tarn already went through his, as did everyone else.”

 

“I’m here.” Pharma had no qualms about it, indicating the very unveiled state of his valve. It was completely non-sexual for him, even if he didn’t think Nickel was a particularly accomplished medic.

“Although I have to disagree with you on two accounts; one, I don’t have any diseases other than the one I concocted myself and two, it doesn’t matter if he’s ugly. His spike is phenomenal, and he is useful to me. I don’t care what Tarn looks like. Do I seem like I’m in any position to make romantic advances towards him? Please. It would only matter if he was....”  _ more important. My lover.  Not someone I hate. _

 

“If he was…?” Nickel finished up the last of the soldering. She put the iron back, getting her clamps instead. Venturing down to Pharma’s valve, she spread them with the clamps and began to scan it. “He’s actually not ugly. Opposite of that.”

Hah. Curiosity was gonna  _ eat  _ Pharma now. “It must be easier for you to hate him if you think he’s ugly and hideous. But you’d be wrong.”

Also, she was going to push away the comment on Tarn’s spike. Ew.

Pharma’s valve was healthy, actually. Everything looked right, except…

“Woah, your calipers have cycled  _ up _ . Beyond what’s normal for your frametype. Are you usually like this, or is it Tarn?” Some node overuse, a few misplaced calipers -- mostly just interface surface damage. “Try to get a little more mercury in your diet. You’ve been spending it all on transfluid. Add magnesium if you want to give Tarn something sweet to taste.”

 

“This is an..adjustment to him,” Pharma replied, wondering how he was going to get mercury when he didn’t have access to his own fuel supplements. Tarn brought it with him, rarely, and sometimes it was just there when he woke up. The perks and drawbacks of being a prisoner.

Nickel was right. About Tarn’s face at least, because now that she had mentioned it, he couldn’t stop wondering. He also couldn’t stop flexing his hands, running them over his ailerons, then his vents. It felt amazing, to have sensation back in his wrists. No more stumps. He had to cure the red rust and then...

Wait. He couldn’t rush this. He better forge his new hands before curing Tarn of his need for Pharma.

He couldn’t have that.

“I’ll need a place to work. For your sake, you might want to replace my valve panel.”

 

“Ask Tarn.” She suspected he’d want easy access. He’d get all put out if Nickel went and ruined his fun. “You can start working on the virus now. Does it even have a name? Tarn told me you made it.”

Impressive. If only he wasn’t such a tool. Nickel might’ve supported inducting him into their ranks.

“The unit’s stir-crazy without being able to transform. So’s Tarn.” As evidenced by his frequent silences and the dents all over Pharma.

 

“Hmhm,” Pharma chuckled. He supposed telling Nickel a little to brag wouldn’t hurt. It’s not like she’d have the code to fix her unit or her commander.

“I call it the Red Rust. It’s completely flawless,” Pharma knew its properties as if it was a child. His child. 

“It’s undetectable. You could live for billions of years without ever experiencing the symptoms. By the way, how are your lower back pistons? A little sore? Heh. That’s a marker,” Pharma examined his hands, fascinated with spreading the digits and flexing them slowly.

“But one transformation, and your insides will melt away. The cog goes first. It infects every system, in a matter of two days, you’ll be completely rusted through. Not even a husk. Optics, internals and spark-casing erode last, so you get to experience the slow, painful death. I made it  _ just _ for Tarn. For him not to transform is worse than any pain I could possibly inflict upon him.”

 

Wow. He was crazy. And so was Tarn, if he was letting this slide. It was actually impressive, Pharma’s valve must be  _ amazing _ .

“Red Rust… I’m putting it in the medical dictionary and encyclopedia. Would be useful.” Pharma would have to fill it out, however. “Do you still want to kill Tarn?”

 

“Of course I do.” Pharma replied, quickly, thoughtlessly. But it definitely held true. Tarn’s life was his to end and to own, and it would be that way. Fate tumbled them together time and time again, and Pharma would make sure one morning would be their last together. In his most romantic fantasies, he killed Tarn slowly. Intimately. He even held him in his arms as he watched his spark go out. 

“Just...not right now. The moment will come. He will die for me. Slowly. Sweetly. In every way I know how to cause him pain, I will. I owe him that after what’s he made of me.”


	7. Chapter 7

Nickel stared at him. That sounded rather… deeper than she’d been expecting. Tarn really didn’t understand what he was doing to Pharma, did he?

“You --”

“Nickel.” Tarn’s entrance stopped her. She looked up from her examination. “Are his hands connected?”

“Yes,” she said, looking between them.  _ Should I tell him _ ?

“Good. You can leave now.”

_ Not yet.  _ Resolving to have this sorted out soon, but not now, she knew that gleam in Tarn’s optics, Nickel quickly left. Once she did, Tarn turned to Pharma.

“How do they feel?”

 

“Not like my hands,” Pharma sniped, immediately feeling more confrontational now that Tarn was here. So much for working. He even sent Nickel out, which meant he was most likely going to make use of Pharma’s warming valve. The slab beneath him already endured a couple of thick droplets spilling out.

“But they’ll do. I expect I’ll be permitted to make better ones,” Pharma reached down to remove the clamps on his valve.

 

“Keep those on,” Tarn said, before Pharma could take the clamps off. He took a longer route, circling Pharma and examining him from all angles before drawing up to the berth. “Show me your hands.”

They wouldn’t be the precise tools Pharma had worked with. They would have to do. Tarn ignored the insistent pinging from his array, or the angry itch of withdrawal clawing his throat -- he still had duties to perform.

 

Pharma obeyed, holding his new appendages out. They were perfectly functional and he was attached enough to be wary of Tarn’s intention. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

Tarn was circling him like a predator, and Pharma felt far too warm and pleased by his obvious show of need to feel like prey. Nothing about him was meek. He made sure that the clamps on his valve and the little pool of transfluid was perfectly visible as he leaned forward.

 

“We’ll see,” Tarn said cryptically. Pharma’s display was already affecting him -- his internal temperature had skyrocketed, and his engine was making low, predatory growls. Each vent brought hot air, though his panel remained shut and his tone mild.

“You’ll start working on your cure, soon.”

Pharma’s new hands were not as delicate as his old, or as filled with seams. Tarn couldn’t tell much else. They probably weren’t as sensitive either. He turned them over, examining it as he waited for Pharma’s answer.

 

“If I can, with these hands. I need lab space. Materials. It may take me some time to remember the exact dosage. I didn’t intend to cure anyone but myself when I used it to wipe out Delphi.”

Pharma noted every little signal that Tarn was broadcasting, his arousal audible and palpable. The medic’s pet theory, that Tarn had replaced his transformation addiction with a temporary fix through repetitive overloads was beginning to bear fruit.

How  _ amusing _ . Tarn had quite literally become addicted to Pharma.

“Unless you want me to be...experimental. And take risks.”

 

“Whichever way is fastest.” Tarn wanted to be able to transform again, damn it. Maybe then he could wean himself off interfacing with Pharma. It was getting ridiculous at this point. The moments they  _ didn’t  _ interface was getting shorter as Tarn’s withdrawal grew worse. It was cutting down on his productivity, and Nickel was giving him extra mercury supplements with a knowing look on her face.

“Until I see a cure, you won’t get more advanced hands. You can’t fool me, Pharma.”

 

“I can’t make a cure without the right tools. Go ahead, use your voice to find out if I’m lying.” Pharma leaned closer now, making sure to mingle their fields. He knew he’d be stretched over the berth before too long, Tarn in desperate need of a fix. He was predictable like that.

“The fact of the matter is, it will take at least another month before it can be ready. And that’s with new servos, that I could make within a week.”

 

“And how long would the servos take?” Tarn took in a shuddering in-vent, his plating visibly rippling with his control. An interface would be fantastic right now, but he couldn’t let the conversation diverge. He came here to talk, not spend it buried in Pharma.

_ His valve is so wet… _

Damn it. Tarn pried his gaze away from Pharma’s array, to the mech.  _ Focus _ . “And what things will you need?”

_ I know what  _ **_I_ ** _ need.  _

 

“I need,” it was too late for Tarn, he’d given Pharma all the weapons in the world already, “you...to supply me with a various list of chemicals that I’ll happily compose. And the servos, like I said,” and he chuckled because him repeating himself meant that Tarn really wasn’t listening, “a week for the servos. A month for the cure.”

The medic leaned back, drawing his hands away for now to rest on, the other tracing over the clamps and his anterior node. His vents flared a little.

“And I need this medibay to work in. Just a tiny corner would _ fulfill my needs. _ ”

“A month and a week, got it.” Tarn swallowed thickly, unable to look away from Pharma’s hand as it played with his valve. That was… he  _ really  _ needed to get this rampant arousal under control. It was getting absurd. Despite his better judgment, his panel slid back and his spike came free, already dripping.

Tarn grit his dentae. “You can’t work…  _ here _ ?” If only because Tarn might have to pull Pharma away sometimes, and that would be hard with Nickel glaring at his back. His hand wandered down to join Pharma’s, pushing in. Pharma was always so  _ ready  _ now...

 

Instead of answering, Pharma moaned prettily, a breathy plea of Tarn’s designation, as if he too couldn’t control his desires much longer. Pharma was very, very aware just how badly Tarn wanted him, if the dripping spike wasn’t enough of an indication.

“If I can get some tools, a work station...I can work anywhere,” Pharma pressed Tarn’s claw deeper into him, holding his wrist and grinding in a needy motion.

 

Tarn’s will was broken by the moan. The added hand around his wrist was just kicking him while he was down. He clambered onto the berth, hauling Pharma to himself as he spread his legs. The lack of a panel to interfere was as amazing as it sounded -- in one smooth motion, Tarn was in Pharma fully.

Lacing his fingers with Pharma’s, Tarn pushed them down to either side of his head. “You work here,” he said, oddly breathless as the withdrawal lessened and the heady buzz of it all  _ stopping _ began, “with me, for whenever I want you. You are  _ mine  _ to use, whenever I please.”

Yes.  _ This  _ was what he’d been craving all day. The ache disappeared when he was in Pharma, when he overloaded in him and on him. This was good, Tarn couldn’t imagine ever stopping.

 

Tarn’s. Heh. Pharma almost pitied him. Who was the fool in the throes of an addiction, here? Who couldn’t live without Pharma’s spectacular valve to welcome him into its satin mesh? Who here couldn’t control himself for longer than a brief conversation?

_ Tarn was Pharma’s _ , and that was the correct order. The deluded tankformer just didn’t realize it yet. He would. Pharma’s fingers caressed the claws and his legs wrapped around as much of Tarn as he could, eagerly participating in their daily ritual.

“As you wish. I’ll work here. With you.”

Even if he _ was _ really beginning to get tired of the same six walls at all times.

 

The interface was brutal. Tarn spare nothing as he left his marks all over Pharma -- streaks of paint around his legs, dents across his chest and arms -- and overloaded four times. Three in him, once upon his cockpit glass. It was another aspect of Tarn’s burgeoning addiction. He overloaded hard, multiple times, seeming to seek each one with single-minded fervor. Filling Pharma’s valve with transfluid was just another bonus.

With his withdrawal acting up, Tarn’s usual care for attention declined. He no longer cared about hiding what he was doing, or how much he needed Pharma. Everyone was going stir-crazy in the quarantine enforced no combat rule, especially Tarn. When he couldn’t fight, he ‘faced. When he couldn’t transform, he ‘faced. When he couldn’t even venture around his own ship for fear of contaminating the surroundings, he ‘faced.

It held off the edge, which was all he needed.

 

It was also on the edge of painful for Pharma, who had to bear the brunt of Tarn’s voracious appetite. Such was the reckless nature of an addiction. Pharma had begun to take his overloads in small and quick doses, never disrupting Tarn’s rhythm, which became increasingly erratic. Where it used to please the tank to treat his partner into losing control completely and overloading long before him, now he sought his pleasure hard and fast and often. 

Perhaps Pharma should start working on the cure. The thought played around his helm as he fell back on the berth, thighs shaking, cockpit smeared and valve utterly ravaged. It twitched and leaked and made a mess that Pharma would have to clean up later.

Tarn’s ‘assaults’ were getting more frequent, more forceful, and it all was playing out better than Pharma had hoped.

“You needed that.”

 

“I did,” Tarn agreed breathlessly. He still felt like he could keep going, but he ignored the urge. Instead, he thrust one last time into Pharma and didn’t pull out, just rolling them so Tarn lay on the berth, still in Pharma. It felt… nice.

He needed to work on controlling this. Curing the infection would let him transform again, and he  _ needed  _ that. Tarn avoided the idea of transforming -- it would set him off yet again. He was tired of living like this, frankly. Interfacing all day, doing no proper work… it was  _ maddening _ . There were traitors be hunted.

“Speed up your work,” Tarn instructed, “I will find the materials you need. Coordinate with Nickel, I don’t care about your opinion of her.” And then, he’d be  _ free  _ of the quiet room and this dependency. 

 

Pharma lazily sprawled himself as close as he dared. Tarn was beginning to see the limits of this arrangement too, that’s why he wanted him to speed up. So he could be rid of his addiction to Pharma.

“I’ll do my best. You’re upholding your end so far.”

The medic had no intention of being noble and sticking to this deal if it meant completely losing control over Tarn. With just a gesture, he’d broken that self-control the tankformer prided himself on. Would Tarn be forgiving of such acts when he was no longer enslaved to Pharma’s valve?

The jet doubted it.

“Although I will miss our time well spent together.”

 

“Better in different circumstances,” Tarn replied. Heat still radiated off his plating as he dimmed his optics, ignoring how good his spike in Pharma felt. This…  _ dependency  _ was sapping his will. It made him needy for things he shouldn’t be and was hampering his ability to think critically in regards to Pharma. The medic knew this as well, which was why he was so welcoming and smug about the whole thing.

“Don’t delay the cure, or your products,” Tarn warned him, “I will be very displeased with you, Pharma.”

And if that happened, Tarn would just have to get creative and turn this around on Pharma. He had a duty to fulfill and a Cause to further. Pharma getting uppity over his condition did not fit in the scopes of that.

 

“I understand my position, Tarn. I'll have my servos and you'll have your cure.” And then, Pharma could plan for his vengeance, assuming that his gracious host didn't change his mind about allowing Pharma on board and alive.

The medic idly clamped his calipers around the spike that remained in him still. He was so used to its presence now that he felt awkwardly empty without Tarn.

“I remember that not disappointing you used to be a priority of mine.”

 

“Are you implying it no longer is?” Tarn didn’t feel like moving anytime soon. The clench got a brief twitch of his spike -- interest he squashed before it got him going yet again. After the infection was cured, he would still ‘face with Pharma, but much less than now. Now, it was just… unacceptable. Pharma had to be put in his place.

There was still a host of traitors to hunt. Their efforts would be doubled once this period passed, to make up for lost time. All in all, many things to do and now was just a waiting game.

 

Pharma didn’t answer him immediately, instead languidly stretching to press himself close to Tarn, gently moving his tired hips and getting a mild amount of friction from the thick spike still pressing into him.

“I have new priorities...and don’t forget that I need to cure myself too.” 

He missed flying, but even if he wasn’t infected with Red Rust, he wouldn’t be able to do so.

 

Tarn put a hand on Pharma’s aft, pressing down so he no longer moved. He saw your distraction, you little minx.

“New priorities. I don’t like the sound of that.” Pharma seemed to think that with Tarn’s increasing time spent in his company, his fangs were blunted. Punishing him required more creativity, but if pushed, Tarn could step up to the challenge. “The only priority you have is to do what I say.”

It was strange -- here they were, intimately connected, but the games between them stayed the same.

 

“What you say and what you do is certainly changing a lot. For example, you say you want me to work, and yet you didn’t find me servos until now,” Pharma  couldn’t grind on Tarn anymore, but he could spiral those calipers tight. He had great control over his internal components, thank you very much.

“You want me to work, and yet you won’t give me a place to do so. You want me to work, but you spend every second hour buried to the hilt in me.”

 

“Don’t pretend as if you are eager to work and it is only me holding you back,” Tarn snapped, “I’m not ignorant to how  _ you  _ are trying to distract me. Even now, you try to pull me away from conversation.” 

The truth stung. Tarn’s irritation flared at the situation. Being this weak in front of Pharma was pretty much the same to handing Pharma a knife and baring his spark to him. It was asking for trouble.

Even now, Pharma attacked him. He avoided Tarn’s question, trying to provoke his anger, trying to  _ provoke _ Tarn until his moods ran high and he took it out on Pharma physically.

 

"You see right through me," Pharma chuckled. Whatever punishment Tarn inflicted upon him was bound to end pleasantly, either in a rough frag or Tarn being so worked up he eventually would end up right back where he belonged, deep in Pharma, hopelessly addicted to his frame.

"It's not like I haven't been working. Keeping you satisfied is a full time position."

 

“What will you do once the infection has been cured?” Tarn asked instead, waving away Pharma’s sly little comments. Pharma’s plans wouldn’t stop here. He would be buying another route for himself, surely, so he could keep hanging onto to Tarn like the parasite he was.

_ ::Tarn.:: _

The ping was a momentary distraction.  _ ::Nickel?:: _

_ ::Are you still with Pharma?:: _

The implication was clear, in the weight of the name and Nickel’s tone.  _ ::...yes.:: _

_ ::Of course you are. When are you going to realize you totally botched this thing?:: _

_ ::Excuse me?:: _

_ ::Your toy is completely insane. Gone around the bend. Off his rocker. Lost his marbles. A scalpel short of a surgery kit. He’s totally obsessed with you, you know that? He wants to kill you, but he also thinks your life belongs to him, and wants to do  _ **_something_ ** _ about it.:: _

Tarn glanced down at Pharma.  _ ::I am aware of his… eccentricities.:: _

_ ::He’s bad news.:: _

_ ::I can handle it, Nickel.:: _

Nickel didn’t reply, but her signing off  _ bleep  _ was snippier than usual. Tarn laid there, contemplative, before he looked back to Pharma. Between his yawning hunger for overloads and the delicate balancing act between pushing Pharma to work and taking him… what  _ did  _ Tarn really intend? Would he follow through on his word and hunt down Pharma’s tormentors? Would he dispose of the mech, now that his use was come and gone? It would be peaceful, if Tarn did that. No more dealing with Pharma’s demands and coy games, getting away from the distraction of his frame and words.

“Will you leave, once everything is finished?”

 

“Will you let me?” Pharma didn’t like the long pause Tarn had made, clearly communicating with someone else. Pharma _ really  _ didn’t like that. Tarn was supposed to think of him and only him, whether it be in anger or in lust, but nothing else should penetrate their time together. 

“I want my revenge. I make no plans beyond that right now.”

Tarn wouldn’t, shouldn’t let him leave. Tarn would try to dispose of him, but not before Pharma had his chance, his sweet revenge, and put his plans in motion. He and Tarn would die together, because of each other, and that was the only way Pharma was leaving this life.

 

“It depends,” Tarn said neutrally, “if you actually do intend on killing me.” Tarn had no intention of dying anytime soon, so Pharma’s fantasies of his grand revenge on Tarn himself would have to wait. “I could leave you somewhere. A barren asteroid, or another iceball. Perhaps if I feel generous, drop you off near an outpost. We would never meet again.”

He actually didn’t want to kill Pharma, despite what he’d done. It was nonsensical and ridiculous of him, but without the fire of fury pushing him, Tarn couldn’t find a reason for why he would kill Pharma. Abandoning him, however, was an easier idea. One that would let him dedicate himself to the Cause fully again.

“You really have no place here.”

 

Pharma’s frame ran cold at that. Another barren world? Even worse, the snow and ice? He’d rather die. Tarn was cruel, of course, that could be expected of someone monstrous such as him, but there was no need for him to punish Pharma further. Had he not suffered enough?

The medic felt torn between gripping Tarn so tight he could never again be separated from his frame, or completely peeling away and shutting down Tarn’s new addiction. Not that he could keep the mech from interfacing with him if he really wanted to, but Tarn had never quite crossed the line of a completely unwilling partner.

_ You have no place here. _

Where did he have a place? Not on Cybertron. Certainly not with the mecha who betrayed him and left him to die. Who would take Pharma in? He couldn’t make it on his own. He wasn’t heavily armed, he couldn’t travel through space with his altmode for a long time. He was a medic. He wasn’t supposed to be all on his own.

Panic welled up in him. Alone again. In the cold. Alone with death, without ever achieving what he wanted. He could never hold Tarn as he died, couldn’t watch the life fade from his optics. No. No! Pharma didn’t want that!

His fingers latched onto Tarn’s treads as he tried to calm his mind, his spark. Tarn couldn’t abandon him yet.

“I...won’t let you do that.” He only had one angle to work with, but it would have to do.

“You need me. To cure you. But who says I’ll cure you completely? You wouldn’t know. You could force me to tell you, you could even have Nickel download my memory banks, but she wouldn’t be able to fix it. You need me. You can’t let me go. You can’t abandon me too!”

 

“Sweet, dear Pharma,” Tarn said, tasting first blood in the air. He turned, bringing Pharma closer. Their optic met. “I haven’t said I  _ would _ now, have I? There’s no need to be so afraid. It’s only a  _ possibility _ , if you show yourself to be deadweight.”

People who feared Tarn, usually tried to get away from him. Pharma was the opposite of that -- he just  _ clung harder. _

“Tell me, Pharma, do you want to stay here? Right by my side, as long as possible?”

_ You can’t abandon me too!  _ It struck a chord, buried under millions of years of festering resentment and fear, born from a mech who trusted too much. Tarn pushed it away. That didn’t matter.

 

“Yes, Tarn, yes,” Pharma was suddenly pliant again, fueled on the notion of abandonment. He clung like glue, grasping any part of the broad frame he could, helm bowing so he could kiss what he could reach of Tarn. His survival, his future, his revenge...everything hinged on this mech, not leaving him behind. 

“You can do whatever you want with me, I can be your shareware...just don’t leave me alone. Please. Please, Tarn.”

 

“I can’t keep someone I can’t trust,” Tarn said, syrupy sweet regret dripping off his words, “you understand that, don’t you? Not being able to trust those around you, always surrounded by  _ snakes  _ who would steal from you… I can’t do that, Pharma. How can I keep you, when you show me that I can’t trust you?”

 

No, no no. Tarn was drifting off into a direction Pharma couldn’t control. Trust could never be established between them, with their shared history. Trust was for people who didn’t actively try to kill each other. Trust...was impossible. Pharma couldn’t trust anyone. 

“I...you have something better than trust. You, we, have mutually beneficial interests. There’s no guarantee for trust. People can still betray you and they will. That’s the only thing you can trust in.  What can I do? What can I do for you? You’ll never trust me. I’ll never be like one of your subordinates. But there has to be something I can do.”

 

“Are our interests mutually beneficial? Is  _ killing me  _ mutually beneficial?” He enjoyed the panic in Pharma’s words. The powers between them were back to where they should be, without the snags of Tarn’s infection catching them up.

“Whatever worth you have is poisoned by your own actions. Why should I keep someone who hates me?”

 

“I don't... It's not like that. It's not as simple as hate.” It really wasn't, but Pharma had put off thinking about it at all. Hate was so much easier than thinking about how much it meant to Pharma to own Tarn’s life. 

“You are...I am yours. I can't be without you. If I only hated you, I wouldn't dream of dying with you.” 

“Why must we die?” Tarn sat up, pulling Pharma with him. The jet seated in his lap, Tarn cupped his face between large hands. “If you cannot live without me, then live  _ with  _ me. There is no other way, Pharma, because I would sooner throw you away than die.”

 

“How? You don't trust me. You don't want me at you side for anything but your cure.  I would stay even if I wasn't shackled. I would interface with you even if I had a panel and a choice. You made me this way, Tarn.” Pharma knew exactly how far Tarn's interest reached. And once he could transform again, what would he do with Pharma?

 

“A good medic is a prize. But a good medic who can  _ kill  _ is priceless.” Tarn stroked Pharma’s helm, optics softening. “Give me everything you have. Your hands, your mind, your skill, your viruses. Your faith in me. A promise, to always do what I want and what I order you to do. Give me that, and you may stay.”

 

Pharma looked up at Tarn with a new kind of reverence.  Was he really contemplating how useful Pharma could be? Was he willing to put their games aside for a new kind of relationship? This could be useful. So useful. Pharma could start over at Tarn’s side.

“Can I? Can I give that to you? Will you even accept my pledge?”

As long as it was beneficial to him, Pharma would do anything. And work it in his own favour later.

 

“Yes, you may,” Tarn said, indulgent as the noose -- silky and gentle and lethal -- closed around Pharma’s neck. He might as well have clipped the jet’s wings with this. “Remember, Pharma. I will be watching. So don’t slip, because you  _ will  _ be left behind.”


	8. Chapter 8

The days following Pharma’s pledge to Tarn were considerably more peaceful than before. Pharma’s insanity seemed to be dormant for now, with his position assured. His new hands were forged quickly and efficiently, and celebration of Pharma’s increased abilities was a several hour long massage that left the medic so much putty in Tarn’s hands.

Time passed. Tarn urged Pharma to speed up his development of the cure. The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ prowled along space, sniffing for new blood, when the message came through. Overlord had been found and offered, if only the DJD would take him.

Tarn accepted, immediately. It would be foolish not to. The troubles with the infection was a concern for later -- Pharma was already making a cure, so it wasn’t that much of a bother. Pharma and Nickel were left behind to man the ship as the unit boarded…

...and saw Deadlock.

From there, it all devolved into mindless chaos. Tarn swept through the Autobot ranks with gleeful abandon, sawing off faces and crushing people’s heads in his hands as they built up an impressive massacre.

It took three hours to fully get everyone. It was the medibay, however, that held the most precious prize.

“It’s Ratchet of the Autobots,” Kaon reported as he dug through the surveillance cameras, “he’s barricaded in the medibay with a few others.”

“Watch him,” Tarn instructed, as he examined the screen. Ratchet and three other Autobots were in the medibay. One looked heavily injured. The other two were training guns at the barred doors, nervousness palpable even through the screen.

“Attention,” Tarn said, finding the intercom, “Those in the medibay. Come out peacefully, and you will be spared pain.”

Not death, of course.

_ ::Come to the ship, Pharma. I found something I think you’ll like.:: _

 

Pharma had paid no mind to what the crew was doing off ship. He was content to work in the medibay, keeping silent and keeping the fragile peace with Nickel. He’d caught her watching him on several occasions. Maybe she was trying to learn. Or more likely, she still didn't trust him and kept him under her scrutiny. Either way, Pharma was back in his element.

When Tarn commed him though, he shuddered with pleasant anticipation. A prize? A surprise? Maybe there had been a medic aboard with nice tools and now he would be the happy scavenger among the devastation.

_ ::I am on my way.:: _

Corpses lined each hallway. Some familiar faces, all of them Autobots. Pharma held no empathy for them, felt no grief at their loss. They deserved death. All of them.

“What have you got for me?”

 

“Look at the cameras,” Tarn gestured. His unit was already skulking off -- Tarn would handle the medibay and none of them liked the medic. They would have much more fun hunting the last Autobots down and taking any prizes that caught their optic.

“Familiar face, yes?”

 

Pharma's mild interest turned to glee immediately. He would recognise that bulky frame anywhere. He’d dreamed of tearing it apart slowly many times, after all.

“Ratchet.” Pharma’s voice hitched with excitement. Was his revenge so close, so immediate? It seemed so.

“You kept him for me. Oh, Tarn, thank you!” His gratitude was genuine and Pharma would have befallen Tarn’s spike if he didn't have a bloodier activity in mind for the near future.

 

“Stay here,” he said. “I will flush them out, and then you can  _ enjoy  _ yourself.” Tarn patted Pharma’s helm, before moving past him.

The attempt to barricade the door and shoot him down was admirable. As was the various traps Ratchet tried -- everything from explosives to even reverse engineering a corpse to shoot weaponized spark plasma at him. That one even  _ hurt _ . Yet Tarn still won -- the two Autobots were smashed into the walls and the injured one torn in half. Ratchet remained whole, though unable to move as Tarn pinned him down with his voice.

_ ::Come along, Pharma.:: _

The ‘bot medic still lay on the ground, clutching his chest as he spasmed. Tarn’s knee on his back did the rest.

 

Pharma had watched with eager attention and a growing sense of impatience. He could taste the spilled energon and  rush of heat went through him. Battle was so invigorating! Even when it was particularly one-sided. 

As he stepped into the room, a grin spread on his lips. This, he would enjoy with every fibre of his being.

“Hello, old friend. You're not looking so well under there.”

 

Ratchet spat out “Glitch!” before Tarn’s voice punched his will into nothingness again. Tarn rose from the mech, giving space for Pharma to move in. “He’s yours,” he said with a wave, “to do what you please. Have fun.”

His unit checked in -- all safe, three more Autobots flushed out. Tarn settled in on a chair in the medibay, watching Pharma.

“Show me what you can do, dear.”

 

“It would be my pleasure, Tarn.” Pharma smiled brightly at the tank former, before sauntering over to Ratchet.

First, since the mech was down, he delivered a hefty kick to his helm, splaying the bulkier medic out on his back.

“It's so good to see you again, Ratchet. Are you enjoying my hands?” He recognized his own servos, painted a hideous orange.

Pharma’s right hand transformed into a saw and revved hungrily.

“I bet you thought you were rid of me. That you won.” 

The saw came down on Ratchet’s arm, tearing through the plating with ease, the jagged cut spurting energon from severed lines.

 

Tarn settled in to watch Pharma work, optics bright with anticipatory interest. Pharma held a  _ long  _ grudge against Ratchet -- Tarn had heard much of it, during the rare moments they were together and not doing something. This was a chance for him to get revenge on the other medic and for Tarn to see how Pharma worked.

The saw was new. Tarn looked it over -- it was medical grade, so it could cut through armor plating, but no use against actual enemies in close combat. So a tool of torture, then. A good start.

Torture was messy work. The energon sprayed out, wet and warm, as Ratchet grimaced in pain. His arm rolled away, useless now, but the medic tried to retaliate. He kicked weakly at Pharma, dragging himself away with his sole remaining arm.

“You should’ve... _ died _ on Messatine.”

 

‘But I didn't. You were sloppy, believing me dead.” Pharma grinned, optics gleaming with malice. He cut the other arm at the elbow joint, delighting in the hot spray of energon.

“Oh, did that hurt? Do you need a hand?”

Pharma laughed, leaning down to pick up one dismembered hand and slapping Ratchet’s face with the dripping lines.

Pharma squatted over the prone mech, tracing over his thick chest plate almost intimately.

“You declared war on my body, Ratchet. I don't take kindly to that.”

 

“Try to not waste too much time,” Tarn said, the vaguest flicker of something ugly in him when he saw Pharma move closer. “We still have another mech to attend to.”

After all, Overlord still waited.

“I should’ve made sure you were dead.” Ratchet wasn’t going to show Pharma any pain. He would die here, that much was certain, but at least he could add a little vinegar to Pharma’s victory. “You’re rotten, Pharma. I used your hands better than you ever have.”

 

A fit of high-pitched laughter escaped Pharma at that. Although he’d heard Tarn’s warning about time, he didn’t want to rush his vengeance.

“Is that so? You were always so jealous that I am the better medic. I knew it.” Pharma stroked over Ratchet’s helm, mocking a caress.

“Your optics were practically green with envy. Especially this one,” less than delicately, Pharma reached into Ratchet’s right optic socket, fingers closing on the finicky little thing and pulling until it tore loose, cables dangling as it lay cradled in Pharma’s palm.

“That’s better.”

The crushed, little shards of glass clattered to the ground. Pharma’s sights were already on another delicate part. He wanted to rip Ratchet to pieces, slowly, for hours, but Tarn wouldn’t wait that long.

“You need a little maintenance.”

Pharma transformed both servos into tools, opening up Ratchet’s chestplate after cutting through every circuit cluster that would try and keep the sparkcasing covered.

 

Ratchet bit down the gasp of pain as his optic was reduced to splinters of glass and metal in Pharma’s fist. The only mercy afforded here was that Tarn seemed content to watch. However, as his chest was opened, spark wavering in distress, the reality of his death began to dawn on him. Throughout the war, there had been many times Ratchet thought he would die. This one wasn’t even the closest. But there was no Prime cavalry here to save him. This was just… death. Slow, painful, and at the hands of someone he once called friend.

Pharma. Poor, poor, rotten Pharma. Ratchet felt a peculiar twist of anger and pity for the mech. He was terrible, driven mad by his isolation and his ambition. He could have been great. He could have been the best of them, and yet, here he was.

Well, he would have to swallow a bitter pill.

“Eat slag,” Ratchet growled, as he tripped a virus he’d made only for his use. A processor crasher, that would format every part of him. It wouldn’t touch his spark but… at least Ratchet’s mind would be long gone.

Pharma was stumped for a moment, but as he watched the systematic wipe through his own, inbuilt diagnostics, he understood that Ratchet was removing himself from his grasp.

“No!” Pharma wasn’t done with him yet! Ratchet needed to suffer! He began sawing again, this time wildly cutting the mech’s chestplate apart, ignoring the spatter of energon all over his pristine frame. This wasn’t how it was suppose to happen! This wasn’t supposed to be in Ratchet’s control! Pharma sawed off his helm, but it didn’t stop the format. He sawed open his chest and sparkcasing, tearing through the sentient metal until the blue of Ratchet’s spark bobbed in front of him. All the while, Pharma shrieked his fury.  Too fast. Too painless. This was not fulfilling in the slightest. 

Both hands dipped in to grab the cradle, as if Pharma could extinguish the spark just by crushing it in his servos, or rather, the saw and the servo. The plasma seeped through his fingers, greying since it had been ripped from its frame, but not yet dead. 

Pharma could rebuild him. Hah. He would, only to take him apart, over and over, until Ratchet’s suffering assuaged the medic.

Sparkcasing cradled in one servo, he picked Ratchet’s helm up with the other, holding it close.

“I’m not done with you. Death is not an escape, dear Ratchet. It’ll be a reward. One day.”

 

“You intend to keep it?” Tarn looked at the wavering little spark in Pharma’s hands, so fragile as it clung to life. “As a… memento?”

He didn’t like that. Ratchet’s presence would be a distraction for Pharma.

“Killing him now would be more efficient. There’s less a chance he might get away, somehow.” Tarn knew enough of improbable Autobot rescues to let this one go. Pharma needed to dispose of him, clearly. Then he could get back to following Tarn’s orders.

“I refuse to let you build him a new body.” 

 

“He doesn’t need a body. Just a few repairs and he’ll be a helm and a spark. That’s plenty to work with.” Pharma was not going to part with his trophy. He glared at Tarn, almost accusingly, knowing exactly how fond the mech was of keepsakes. His personal quarters were plastered with trophies and mementos.

“Killing him now would be kind. He hasn’t suffered enough.”

 

“It is a distraction,” Tarn said, firm, “have you forgotten your promise to obey me so soon, Pharma?” He glanced at the spark disdainfully. “Drop it. Before I  _ make  _ you.”

His voice dipped, not quite lethal, but pricking at Pharma’s spark warningly. Tarn didn’t like backtalk, especially when he’d been already so  _ generous _ .

 

Pharma grit his dentae. This wasn’t worth risking Tarn’s anger. Ratchet was dead, or close to it, and Pharma had been the one to end him. It should have been enough, even if it didn’t feel that way. He dropped the helm, then held up the sparkcasing, revving his saw and letting it sever the last line of the defense for the helpless spark. It flickered out almost immediately. Pharma let it fall. He was done here.

“Fine.”

 

“ _ Good _ ,” pleasure seeped into his voice, petting Pharma’s spark praisingly. He followed it up with an actual pet. “We don’t need him now, do we? His time has come and gone. Leave the past behind.”

Tarn tugged Pharma by the shoulder vent. “Come along now. We have another guest to attend to, and I want you there.”

 

There was no time to preen at the petting, Tarn seemed eager to conclude his business here, whatever that was. Pharma came along, servos transformed back, energon covering his frame. He wiped some off of his cockpit, though it only smeared the glass.

“Why? What are you intending to show me?”

The corridor was lined with corpses and got progressively darker, until it lead into a chamber illuminated by soft red emergency lights. Most of it was blocked out by a massive frame though, spread-eagled across the whole chamber and restrained with clamps on every part of his body.

Pharma only had a vague recollection of a name that went with that faceplate, mostly courtesy of Fortress Maximus’ memory banks.

“...Is that...?” he muttered, stilling at the door, not daring to come any closer.

 

“Overlord,” Tarn answered as he stepped into the room. His unit was already there, waiting for him. Helex was holding the saw Tarn had specifically ordered for this -- ununtrium coated teeth, so even Overlord’s plating wouldn’t resist its cut.

“A traitor to the Decepticon Cause, and a prisoner barely worth a rescue attempt. Trash,” Tarn said. “Do you have any last words, Overlord?”

The behemoth barely stirred at his entrance. Dull, flat optics swept over the people in the room, before Overlord’s head slumped down once again. He mumbled something.

“Hm? What’s that?”

“... kill me….”

“A wise choice,” Tarn agreed. The saw started up, shrieking as its deadly teeth began to whirr. Tarn aimed carefully, trying to hit the exact sweet spot for Overlord’s thick neck. He cut the pink kibble on Overlord’s shoulder first -- it got in the way. His unit shuffled closer to watch as the saw bit into Overlord’s neck, beginning to sever his head.

 

This was not how Pharma pictured Tarn doing his grimey work. He seemed much more the distant killer who would end it with a shot or a whisper, not a saw and the screech of protesting metals. Pharma inched closer, analyzing Overlord’s frame. It was amazing in its construction. Now he understood the need for the special saw, nothing else would cut through that armor. It seemed almost a shame to waste all that raw material. The frame was intact, entirely so. And...Pharma remembered the files. Overlord was a triplechanger. That meant he had a very unique t-cog, as well as other precious internals. Why hadn’t Ratchet stripped out everything he could? The mech’s values always got in the way of pragmatic medicine. 

But he couldn’t interfere with Tarn here. Not with his unit watching. They all looked bloody, and ready for more gruesome violence. Not to mention they very strongly disliked Pharma. Maybe there’d been an opportunity, once the behemoth got his wish. Pharma stopped at Overlord’s outstretched servo.

 

Energon sprayed as Overlord’s head was finally cut. It tumbled down from his wide shoulders, optics going dark as his face slackened. The impact was loud. It rolled a little, until it reached Tarn’s foot with a  _ tink _ .

“Cross off Overlord from the List,” Tarn instructed Kaon. He bent to grab the head by a turret. “This is going in the trophy room.”

He looked at Overlord’s massive frame, examining it.

“Tesarus, Vos, see if you can remove his clamps. We’re bringing it aboard for draining.”

 

Draining? Pharma pulled a face and stepped closer, whilst Tesarus and Vos got busy trying to find the clamp releases. 

The medic traced a digit over the thick plating, all the way up Overlord’s massive arm, to his chest, to his abdomen. There was no way he could cut through it. He didn’t pay any attention to Tarn and his trophy, hoping he wouldn’t have to look at Overlord’s dead optics every time Tarn wanted to make use of him in his berth. 

Ah, there. 

He fiddled with the manual override. It was shut tightly, as expected, but with no energy in the systems, there was no need for the latch to hold. A mass of energon and hydraulics splashed out of the dark, small hole, but Pharma reached in anyway, tugging until he pulled his treasure free. It was so much sturdier than he expected. Overlord’s t-cog, the Autobots hadn’t even removed it. What if he had broken free? He would have...well, killed everyone on board. Just like the DJD. So careless, so foolish, his former colleagues.

 

“What are you doing there?” Tarn frowned, not that Pharma could see it, as he leaned for a look. “Stop touching it. Who knows what you’ll catch.” Overlord’s hygiene -- or lack of, honestly -- was something he wanted no experience with. “Leave that alone.”

Triple changer T-cogs were useless to Tarn. They didn’t fit his cradle, with their different build, so he couldn’t use them even if he wanted to. “That’s useless.”

 

“Not to me,” Pharma wanted to brush off Tarn’s pesky interest and dismissal. The mech, for being an addict to transformation, had no idea of what value research was. And Pharma would need something enticing to offer, eventually, aside from the mostly finished cure. Recreating it had been easy, since he was the one to invent Red Rust in the first place.

“It won’t work for you, but it’s much more durable than any t-cog you’ve had, and now I can finally find out why.”

Pharma put the cog away into his subspace, unconcerned about Overlord’s hygiene. He’d seen and experienced far worse. 

“Can I have this?” he gestured at the massive frame, “when you’re done with it?”

 

“Why?” The ununtrium couldn’t be extracted, Tarn intended to drink all the energon, and most of Overlord’s parts didn’t fit. He was deadweight. “He won’t be much use to you. Besides a trophy of some kind.” And Tarn already had his head.

Using Overlord’s T-cog to research some way to create a more durable line of cogs was promising, but still vague. Why bother when Tarn could just kill his own supply?

“Are you trying something with it?”

_ Was it going to be weird? _

 

“I can try a lot of things with it.” Pharma had no clear plan for Overlord’s corpse just yet, but he knew there was a lot he could learn from it. A mech that could destroy worlds was not so easily disabled, and a curious mind like Pharma’s could come to all sorts of conclusions if it just had the right tools.

“And he’ll give me plenty of ununtrium to experiment with. I don’t have to extract it for that.”

He could just test if it was truly as indestructible as it was claimed to be. 

“I promise, it’ll yield results.”


	9. Chapter 9

Time passed. The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ fell into another schedule. Pharma finally cured Tarn, who immediately went back to his T-cogs. Everyone else was injected with a vaccine, just to be safe, and Nickel scoured the rest of the ship to kill of whatever bits remained.

Tarn’s addiction returned full force as he burned through three T-cogs a day in the beginning, craving his hits harder and faster than before, before slowly settling into a rhythm. He still interfaced with Pharma, but less, with more attention to the mech himself. 

Things, it seemed, settled.

It was a lull that Tarn used to get his thoughts in order. His ship was peaceful, their mission uninterrupted, yet there was still the nail that stuck up -- Pharma. 

He worked in the medibay, seemingly having reached a truce with Nickel over their respective spaces, and tinkered on Overlord. Tarn refused him entry to his quarters, keeping Pharma in the quiet room and visiting him when the mood struck. Their contact diminished -- partially due to Tarn’s efforts -- as their respective duties kept them apart. It was a respite from the storm of emotions that always struck when he was near the medic.

_ Why is he still here? _

Pharma was useful. He was an excellent medic and was doing research.

_ Why haven’t I killed him? _

Again, the same reason.

_ Why do I visit him? _

The interface was good.  _ Very  _ good.

_ Then what’s wrong? _

All of Tarn’s reasons were flawless, on the surface. Anyone would understand the desire to keep a useful interface partner around, right? It was sensible. Logical. Tarn didn’t need to concern himself over this anymore. All of it was  _ handled _ .

_ Yet, not _ .

The desire he felt was sickening. Overwhelming. Foolish. He hadn’t fallen to it back on Delphi, when their moments of contact were separated by months and taken up by a flurry of barbs and innuendos, but  _ here _ …

Pharma was dangerous. Unstable. Tarn didn’t need Nickel nagging him to understand  _ that _ . It was obvious, when his control slipped and his madness glimmered through the cracks of his psyche. Yet Tarn felt indulgence he shouldn’t, fondness where only curiosity should be.

Why was he doing this, when Pharma wasn’t even worth all that much? His skills were limited, even his beauty was expendable. Tarn had seen many mecha in all his years -- he’d killed traitors just as skillful, nearly as beautiful, and ignored all their pleas for clemency on the grounds of being  _ useful  _ to him. The same with Autobots. So why did Pharma  _ vex  _ him this much? It was impossible to pin his exact role in Tarn’s life -- Kaon, Helex, Tesarus, Vos were his unit. Nickel was an attachment to his unit, and his medic. Megatron was his leader. Everyone else fell into place between the spaces of  _ enemy _ ,  _ ally _ , and  _ traitor _ .

Except Pharma. Pharma, who’d survived his attack on Tarn and his unit. Pharma, former Autobot. Insane, vain, headstrong Pharma who still had the gall to argue with his orders.

It was…  _ vexing _ .

The battle with the Galactic Council’s fleet came as a relief. Tarn could sink into the beat of fighting; falling into their midst with all the force of a wrecking ball, crushing skulls, transforming and catching the soft organic limbs between his seams and pulping the flesh, shooting where his aim fell…

It took three hours before the DJD admitted defeat and retreat. One wrecked warship, and several thousand dead on the Galactic Council’s end. Kaon and Vos, lost on the DJD’s.

Seemingly less, yet all that much greater of a loss.

Tarn handled it like he did the deaths of everyone else. With a twinge of loss, before briskly getting things into order and getting ready to recruit others for the vacated spots on his team. The incident with Tesarus was handled easily, and lo! Kaon and Vos weren’t actually dead and that made things  _ much  _ more simple.

Then.

_ Then _ .

_ Megatron is an Autobot! _

_ Megatron.  _ Beloved leader, the compass of Tarn’s whole being, the hand that wielded him. Megatron, who would never waver. Megatron, who rebuilt him from the wreckage of Roller. If others prayed to Primus, then Tarn prayed at Megatron’s feet.

_ An Autobot. Megatron is an Autobot! _

He didn’t even react harshly. There had been some muted shock, before a brisk order for Kaon to start up the nuke chamber. Tarn looked completely normal on the surface. Like his entire world hadn’t been shattered.

_ I’ll be in the nuke chamber. _

Calm. So calm. Absolutely, utterly calm and in control. A leader mustn’t waver before his troops. A leader is faithful, a leader is loyal, a leader  _ never  _ **_changes_ ** .

_ Megatron is an Autobot! _

He knew how to work the nuke chamber. Insert each tube to their slots, feeling the rush of the nuke sweep through his frame, filling lines with pins and needles that made him hurt and feel so alive at the same time.

Tarn remembered the day Megatron saved him. The warm, heavy hand on his shoulder, offering salvation and new purpose. A grey face, calm and assured with himself like Roller had never been, so comfortable in his frame as he dared to defy a planet.  _ You’re not Roller anymore. You’re not Orion Pax’s toy anymore. You’re not an enforcer of the Senate, following laws meant to crush and oppress. _

_ You are a Decepticon. Rise, Tarn, and let me build the future through you. _

Too much. Too much nuke. Too much. His systems blared warning, then alarm, then a klaxon of panic as his body began to shudder under the onslaught.

Why, Tarn couldn’t tell. He felt calm. So calm.

_ Megatron is an Autobot! _

So. Calm.

_ Rise, Tarn. _

Tarn fell.

 

War was always the same, especially for a medic. Staying behind the lines, awaiting the wounded, the dead. There was no glory in the defeat of their enemies. There was only the overwhelming tide of pain, stemmed by the mecha who dedicated their entire lives and frames to it. There was nothing glamorous or honorable about war. That was a lie told to gain eager soldiers, ready to lay down their lives for foolish ideologies. Soldiers that grew so loyal, they’d still be chanting their dogmas as they were ripped apart, alive.

But the DJD didn’t go to war. They went to slaughter, and to hunt. This? A slaughter.

Pharma hardly took notice when the crew was not on board, or when the ship was under attack. It was Nickel's job to wrangle the DJD, and she did so with surprising ease. Pharma was almost glad for her presence. Although there was nothing short of disapproval from her pointed at him like a gun at all times, she didn't go out of her way to make him uncomfortable. Mostly, Pharma worked on his research and awaited Tarn's visits in the quiet room, which was becoming somewhat of a home to him. 

The visits became noticeably less once Tarn was cured. As expected. What Pharma didn't anticipate was the disappointment. Tarn's addiction to him was superficial, fickle. It was only a matter of time before the tank would remember to question Pharma's presence. Until then, the medic would have to produce something of worth.

And he had to ignore the yearning in his chest, in his frame, for Tarn's presence. He thirsted for it, his valve ached for it. So much so that when Tarn did come for an interface, Pharma befell him greedily, offering any and everything in his skill to please the DJD's cruel commander. It was nothing short of ridiculous that he had become so eager to share space and fluid with the mech. That his company was the highlight of Pharma’s life. He still despised Tarn. He despised Tarn so fondly that he painted vicious fantasies, but they no longer included Tarn’s death. Just a mere eternity of suffering at Pharma’s will. Becoming his servant, his lesser. Pharma could lay on his berth all day and indulge said fantasies.

He expected the usual out of Tarn after meeting an enemy fleet. Learning that the DJD had, in fact, not won, lessened the chances of a victorious frag considerably, so Pharma had gone back to work, dreaming of being able to offer Tarn something so enticing that he would remember that he needed Pharma to live, that he needed to be buried in Pharma and could only find happiness and satisfaction with his jet.

But Tarn didn't come. He didn't even send a comm to the room.

Pharma ignored the twinge of disappointment. He knew nothing of the news, he knew nothing of Megatron's fate. He strolled into the medbay with nothing more devious in mind than finally learning how Overlord had weaponized nearly every part of his body.

And then...

Nickel burst past him in the hall, not even stopping to snap a comment about clumsy fliers that stood in the way as she tumbled to the floor, knocked out of her run by colliding with Pharma's long legs.

Pharma had never seen her so concerned, her field brimming with absolute panic. Something was very, very wrong.

"Nickel? What's the m-"

"He's about to do something really stupid! I don't have time for you! Slaggin' move!"

"Who, what?"

"Tarn!"

"Where?"

"Nuke chamber."

He would be faster. Pharma transformed in the hallway, which wasn't all that difficult since it was big enough for Tesarus to comfortably walk around. He dipped his nose, loading Nickel onto his cockpit before he shot off, ignoring her indignant noises.

They burst through the door together, Pharma coming to a skittering halt with Nickel in his arms. only to see the chamber in full use, Tarn only visible through the thick glass.

_ What... _

Pharma felt every fluid in him turn to ice. He knew exactly what this was supposed to be.

On the floor, a datapad, replaying the same video, over and over. Megatron, renouncing his cause. Bearing the Autobot badge. The one Pharma had forcibly sanded off of his chest months ago.

Nickel was already out of his grasp and at the tank.

Pharma couldn't move, still reeling with it all. Megatron didn't concern him. Tarn...Tarn must have seen this, and now he was...

_ He wants to die. _

No.

No, he couldn't. He wasn't allowed to take his own life. He belonged to Pharma! They were going to die together! He couldn't do this, he couldn't leave Pharma behind!

"Tarn!" Of course the mech wouldn't be able to hear him. 

 

His legs were losing feeling. Tarn had long since offlined his optics, so the world wouldn’t bother him anymore. His unit wouldn’t come down here, their obedience was too great for that. Hot, liquid fire scalded the inside of his frame, burning, burning, burning…

There was a bang on the glass of the chamber. Tarn tried to ignore, but more rained down.

He onlined one, dim red glaring through the purple nuke.

Nickel and Pharma. He couldn’t hear them well, but Nickel, poor Nickel, who he’d found alone on a planet ravaged by the Black Block Consortia…

She was banging at the glass, small fists bouncing off of it as she screaming something unintelligible.

He remembered her recruitment. Taking her aboard, fixing her up, and coaxing her out of the shell of trauma to see what lay under --  _ anger _ . Revenge. A fervent loyalty to the Decepticons for what they offered.

The chance to avenge injustice. Unity, loyalty among brothers.

Wasn’t that why Tarn joined, as well?

_ Go _ , he wanted to say.  _ Leave me _ .

What use was he, now?

 

Pharma watched Nickel argue with a mech who wouldn’t hear her. How pointless. She could scream her vocalizer to disfunction, Tarn would be too stubborn to listen to her. Pharma felt utterly numbed, like he was back in the ice. He could only stand by and watch. The chamber was locked, neither he or Nickel would be able to stop it. Tarn was such a monster. He was taking everything away, in this moment. Not just from him. He would destroy his unit, he would render them all obsolete and lost. Pharma may not care for the DJD, but he knew they were Tarn’s life and work. Well. Megatron was his life.

And now he was gone.

And Tarn would follow him, like the fool he was. Couldn’t he see that he was more powerful than Megatron could ever hope to be? Free from any tyranny, now unshackled from his dreadful, doomed Cause?

Pharma touched the tank, traced the side beyond the glass. Tarn didn’t even kill him before this. What would he do? He couldn’t stay with the DJD. They would kill him the second Tarn’s spark extinguished.

_ Tarn... _

“It’s useless Nickel.”

He scraped his servos over the surface of the tank, leaving small grooves in it and the tips of his fingers raw and open. 

“It’s...”

Not like this. It couldn’t end like this. Pharma slammed his fists against the tank, just as uselessly as Nickel, though he didn’t scream. He wanted to, furiously, but the ice in his core was taking away any semblance of power he could feel.

 

_ Why are you a Decepticon, Tarn? _

_ Because Megatron is one, and I follow him. _

_ Why did you choose to follow Megatron? _

_ He raised me up from who I was, to I should be. He gave me hope for a better future. He can for you, too. _

Didn’t Nickel realize she was too weak to break the glass? Same with Pharma. It was thick, toughened glass, that only three mecha on this ship could shatter. Why was she doing this?

_ I’m not a medic, Tarn. _

_ You can be. _

_ I wasn’t forged for it. _

_ You’re a Decepticon. When has that stopped us? _

Banging, banging away. Begging him to stop, to think about this. What was Tarn doing, if not thinking? His place in this world was gone, with Megatron’s loyalty. He had been abandoned. What use was a weapon gone unused?

_ Without loyalty, we fall. Without loyalty, we break. Never abandon your unit. Never abandon the Cause. Without it, we are nothing. _

_ I won’t ever leave you, Tarn, if you don’t leave me behind. _

He would be leaving them all, alone. Without Megatron to guide them, with an uncertain future ahead.

_ Your life belongs to me! _

Pharma… oh, Pharma. Shouldn’t you be happy? Here was Tarn, hoisted by his own petard, dying before your optics. You hate him, so why aren’t you smiling?

_ Don’t leave. _

_ Please. _

It took more willpower than he had ever mustered before in his life. Even when he limped through the wasteland with half his face gone and his pelvic region shattered, Roller had suffered less. Even after being rebuilt, Tarn had suffered less. Lifting his arm felt like lifting the world, trembling under the weight of his tarnished dreams.

Tarn smashed through the glass in one heave, falling forward as the tubes gave way, nuke splashing down around him. His knees crumpled under him, weak and shaky, and Tarn fell face first with a crash amid pooling nuke and glass.

 

Pharma barely understood what was happening until the glass smashed, and Tarn came through. He only had a second to pull Nickel away so she wouldn’t be crushed under the heavy weight of her leader.

Tarn...what had changed his mind?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t dead. 

Both medics swarmed around him, Pharma had to get to his knees to touch the soaked mech. Turning him over cost him every bit of desperate strength he could summon. Alive. Tarn was still alive. All of his systems were jittery, hiked to a higher degree of functionality with the nuke doing it’s work, but Tarn would be able to recover, if they treated him now, siphoned out as much nuke as they possibly could.

“Drain his secondary tank!” He didn’t wait for Nickel to backtalk him. This was an emergency.

Cutting Tarn open didn’t come with an ounce of satisfaction as he severed one of the lines that would drain out the primary tank. Tarn was such a damn fool. Why had he done this to them all?

The puddle of nuke grew steadily, but Pharma knew it would be harmless if it couldn’t cycle around Tarn’s frame. He grabbed the mech’s helm between his hands, stroking the mess with his ruined fingers.

“You...slagging...glitch.” 

His vocalizer hitched dangerously. He should have been happy. Tarn had nearly killed himself. 

 

Tarn stared at Pharma listlessly, not even caring at the insult. He felt Nickel working somewhere behind him, but his body was too weak to stand, much less twist to see what she was doing. He accepted it, turning his face to Pharma’s hands. He felt tired, so tired. Hollow.

Tarn wanted to sleep. Rest. Forget everything that had happened.

“Set a course for… Messatine,” he murmured.

 

Pharma didn’t know if Nickel had heard the order, and he didn’t really care. Tarn wasn’t dead. That mattered. Tarn wanted...who knew what he wanted. He needed rest most of all. Pharma could never command the DJD, but Nickel could, and she did. Tarn was transported to his private quarters for the duration of the trip. Pharma followed Helex and Tesarus all the way to the door, where he was promptly told to get himself to the quiet room. He considered arguing, everything in him bristled not to leave Tarn’s side.

He looked to Nickel, but she wasn’t likely to help him. In any scenario.

“Someone needs to stay with him. The nuke...you know it could burn out his preliminary sensors. Even now.”

 

Nickel looked between her unit, and Pharma. All of them looked stubborn, ready to argue their case. Yet Nickel, as the medical officer of the ship, had final say. Tarn was still dead to the world, staring at the walls as his systems suffered the nasty purging that would follow his stunt.

“Bring him in,” she said. “I need another pair of hands to help me work.” Not to mention the idle fear that Tarn might suffer adverse side effects she wouldn’t be able to treat fast enough. Tarn was priority now.

Tesarus and Helex grumbled, but stood aside to let Pharma in. Nickel didn’t wait for him, striding into Tarn’s rooms quickly. It was a deeply comfortable space Tarn kept. The lights were dimmed into a soft twilight, and his berth was wide and rich. Cushions were scattered around on divans. A massive bookcase took up one wall, filled with novels. The other wall was taken up by Tarn’s first edition of  _ Towards Peace _ , neatly pinned and cleaned. A small table stood near the armchair, holding up decanters of glowing high grade and shot glasses arranged on a tray. 

 

Tarn’s quarters were exactly as Pharma pictured them, from the macabre decoration to the ridiculous amount of luxury. A brute of taste, he might have said in less dire times. Now he could only hurry through the rooms to stand vigil by Tarn’s berthside. The nuke could still affect him now and his apathy wasn’t exactly an inspiring sight in any circumstances.


	10. Chapter 10

Pharma ended spending more time in Tarn’s quarters during their journey to Messatine than he ever had on the brief occasions he’d been there before. Only this time, the luxury was lost on him. At least for the first couple of days. Tarn didn’t move. His frame recovered under the expert care of two medics, but his state didn’t change at all. He was lethargic, didn’t speak, didn’t move.

Pharma had taken to sitting by the berth in silence, contemplating what could have happened. Why Tarn could be so stupid as to take his life over a betrayal. Pharma couldn’t understand his loyalty to Megatron, even surrounded by the evidence of Tarn’s worship. But he didn’t leave Tarn’s side. He refueled the mech under Nickel’s surveillance, refused his own recharge with various medical reasons why he needed to stay with Tarn at all times.

Not that it helped.

Pharma had only tried speaking with him once, and gotten no response. Not even a glance. It was like sitting in a morgue, or within an intensive care unit. Pharma didn’t mind. It gave him time to contemplate potential futures. As much as he knew of Tarn, he understood little of his motivations. He was a fanatic. He didn’t operate on the same logic as someone like Pharma. He was driven by loyalty instead of reason, violence instead of cunning.

And now he had no guiding light, no leader to point this weapon, no hand to wield him. 

Was he sinking into despair? Was he lost and alone? Was he plotting his vengeance of the biggest Decepticon traitor of all?

Pharma didn’t know.

What he did know, however, was that Messatine looked as horrendous and cold as ever and when they landed, he would not be inclined to walk any length of his old ‘home’. 

By the time Vos hissed over the comms that they’d arrived, Pharma had curled into one of Tarn’s exuberant chairs and fallen into a light, exhausted recharge.

 

Tarn waited until the announcement was done before he slowly rose, stumbling off his berth and out of his room. He ignored Pharma’s presence -- what was the point? -- and everyone else. Kaon opened the landing gear for him, letting him leave the ship.

Messatine was a shock of cold air, shooting through his frame like a thunderclap. He went onward, transformed midway, and rolled forward. As he moved, he transformed back and forth, leaving footsteps and tracks behind him until he reached a dune of snow-covered ice. He sat on the lip of the dune, staring at the horizon.

This part of Messatine was away from Delphi’s cliffs and mountains. It was a gently sloping field of snow, leading out into a flat plain that stretched further than he could see. The sun was setting and left a palette of vibrant oranges and reds across the chill sky. Tarn stared at the slowly moving sun, as it inched below the horizon line.

He felt empty.

His mask came off and lay in his hands, brittle and sad. What was he doing? What  _ would  _ he do?

 

Tarn was gone by the time Pharma came out of recharge. It wasn’t hard to guess where he’d gone, and no one tried to stop Pharma. There was a sedated sort of atmosphere lingering around the entire crew. No quips, no glares, just a heavy mood, settled into all of their sparks.

Pharma shuddered as he walked down the ramp. He hated snow. He hated Messatine. This was the place of his downfall, his greatest mistakes, his death. Or what he considered it, if this whole existence with the DJD was to be a second wind, his second attempt at life.

The tracks were there, highly visible, changing to footsteps in short intervals. There was no wind today, no snow to blow over Tarn’s path.

Pharma’s turbine whined and he sucked in a deep cycle of air. He hadn’t flown, in a sky, in a long time. Especially not this sky. Tarn would not go fast, altmode or walking. Pharma had the time. He wouldn’t be left behind this time. 

He took two more steps into the snow before he threw himself into the wind, engine howling as he shot up into the sky. When was the last time he’d flown for pleasure? He couldn’t remember.

Messatine’s white expanses almost hurt to look at, especially in the light of the dying day. It was much more beautiful than he recalled. Pharma disappeared into the clouds, dipping his wings through their damp masses. Above them, the sunset was a marvel. 

He came back down once he’d had his fill, lazily scanning for Tarn among the snow. He wasn’t difficult to find, a dark lump in the middle of all that white. Pharma didn’t approach him from the back, instead rolling himself over a cliff, enjoying his speed, his grace. Speaking with Tarn was likely to be a frustrating experience, but at least he would have this flight for himself.

He landed before Tarn in a manner befitting a flier like him.

 

A soft crunch of snow. A presence. Tarn looked up to see Pharma, fresh-faced and fresh off what looked like a flight. He was… pleased with himself.

Tarn went back to contemplating his mask, uncaring of if Pharma saw his face or not. It didn’t matter anymore. “Why are you here?”

He remembered how much Pharma hated Messatine. Tarn had thought he would stay in the ship, warm and safe. 

 

“Why are you?”

Pharma took a moment to appreciate the view. Not of the sunset behind him, but Tarn. And his face. Oh... Nickel had not been lying.

_ Oh. _

He looked so very different. Softer, vulnerable, unbearably handsome. Pharma couldn’t stop looking, now that he had found this new and stunning view. Without the blazing intensity of his optics set to their fullest potential, or the smooth, passive features of his mask, Tarn looked...wonderful.

Greed surged through Pharma like fire. He wanted to touch, possess, mark this as his own. Wildly inappropriate thoughts, considering Tarn’s mental state.

Pharma sat down at the massive mech’s side.

 

“I… needed space.” He wasn’t sure if he still wanted to die. Maybe, a little. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything, anymore.”

Was confessing this to Pharma bad? Probably. Pharma would use him, use it against him. But…

… at least it was better than being abandoned. Pharma had begged  _ him _ to not leave him. Pharma couldn’t leave him if he did that, that wouldn’t make sense.

_ Like how Megatron recruited you, then left you? Like how he killed his own revolution? _

“He left me.” Broken. Plaintive.

 

Pharma despised being surrounded by the cold, but Tarn still produced heat in masses, like any warframe should do. The medic huddled into his field, but tried not to touch him just yet; clearly, the mech was in a delicate state of mind.

It was strange, how their fears seemed so similar, and yet so vastly different. Where Pharma placed himself as the highest good, the recipient of worship, of every stretch of work, Megatron had been there for Tarn.

That space was now torn asunder. Vacated. Empty. Perhaps, for the better. Pharma could think of more deserving mecha than Megatron for Tarn’s beautiful, frantic loyalty.

“He showed his true colors.”

Pharma had to tread carefully here, and he chose his words wisely, no matter how terrible his own opinion of Megatron, “In the end, he was not strong enough for his own ideals.”

But Tarn was. Couldn’t that be a new ambition. A new empire, with an infallible leader? Certainly a good home for Pharma to call his own.

“His weakness...it can be your strength, Tarn.”

“His weakness… was I not enough for him? Was the Cause not enough?” Pharma was already working his angle, but Tarn couldn’t bring himself to find the amusement in that. “He couldn’t have been like that always, it must have been something to change him.”

A flare of hope. “Maybe the Autobots changed him. Took his mind, changed it, made him lie…”

Tarn slumped back again, the mask falling from loose fingers. 

“Do the Decepticons still exist? What am I supposed to do? Megatron is a traitor, but he was my  _ leader _ . He  _ saved  _ me.”

 

Pharma contemplated the possibility of Megatron being mentally altered in order to enforce the end of the war. It was possible, even if it wasn’t likely under Optimus Prime. He always had taken everything involving Megatron very, very personally.

The war was over.

Decepticons, Autobots, they all had lost.

“And now? Will it be your death as well as his, for his surrender? You came out of that tank for a reason, Tarn,” Pharma rested his servos on the mech’s arm. It wouldn’t even disturb him to be swatted aside. That at least would be a glimpse of the old Tarn.

“He betrayed you.  _ All _ of you. Is it the way of the Decepticons to be forgiving? Will you surrender yourself, your unit, to Autobot justice?”

He severely hoped not. Pharma wouldn’t get away unscathed from that. The snow around them grew colder and paler with every passing minute. Pharma forcibly pushed the memories of cold tendrils of death wrapping around his systems away.

The heat of the warframe drew him in. It was easy for him to get comfortable, leaning against Tarn’s bulk.

“You could be so much _ more _ . You’re powerful. You’re not like me. You don’t have to cling to anything for life...you could do whatever you pleased. You could be anything you could dream of.”

_ Anything Pharma dreamed of. _

 

“The Decepticon way… I thought I knew the Decepticon way. Relentless, unforgiving,  _ changing _ … but was I wrong? How can Megatron not be a true Decepticon, and I one?” Tarn stared at Pharma, beseeching. Searching him for the answers Tarn lost. “Are there any traitors with Megatron? Are there Decepticons, without Megatron?”

His field shrunk around them, radiating abject misery and fear, insecurity. Tarn bit his lip.

“I worshipped him. I would have followed him into a blackhole, if he asked me to. I… I am to do that now? What is the truer path -- Megatron or the Cause? Can there be a Cause that has no Megatron?”

 

Tarn's questions probably had answers, but Pharma had little interest in the truth. Or in the moral struggle the mech was in, which wasn't one he understood in the first place. Not having guidance was liberating. Refreshing, in Pharma’s opinion. But Tarn lived to be ruled, to serve a master crueller than he, someone he loved without question. Pharma wondered if it was ambitious of him to want to be that person.

“Does the cause not outweigh its creator? Would the Megatron you followed not have demanded that you do not stray the course, no matter who tried to corrupt you? I never read the book. But I can imagine it would not encourage questionless servitude and mindless following.” Which was ironic, since most Decepticons did exactly that in the war.

“Wouldn't he want you to think as he did, not do as he does? Think, Tarn.”

 

“You… you are  _ right _ .” Tarn sighed as Pharma’s words hovered between them, promising a path Tarn could follow without compromising himself. “I follow Megatron, I  _ still  _ follow Megatron. Just… not the one now. I follow the one who saved me, and would have wanted me to forge on past all difficulty.”

Tarn pulled Pharma closer. He tugged him up, so he was standing, before wrapping his arms around him. Tarn’s chevron rested on Pharma’s abdomen, arms around his legs and hips respectively.

“... thank you, Pharma. Your presence has helped me more than I expected. I didn’t think you would be the one to help me, of all people.”

 

“Yes well. I didn't think you'd be the one to save me from this icy hell either. Stranger things have happened.” Pharma dismissed the role he played in all of this quite smoothly, fingers caressing Tarn's helm. His anxious, insecure murderer of a mech. Pharma adored him like this, a little. No mask, no cruelty, no will to resist Pharma at all. Tarn was precious. Megatron would squander such a gift, but Pharma would not.

“I know I never thanked you for finding me. I know you didn't come for me. But I am grateful. You set me free in ways I could never have imagined. You let me rise beyond what I was.”

 

“So we both did.” Moving so that Pharma sat in his lap, Tarn pressed his mouth to Pharma’s chevron. “I still… fear what will happen now. What  _ has  _ happened. Where is Soundwave, Starscream? The latter’s never been much of a Decepticon, but surely Soundwave carries the banner still. I… cannot say what the rest is doing. Do they face the same struggle as I do, now that Megatron has turned his back on us?”

Pharma felt nice to hold this way. Secure and stable, the wildfire of his capricious moods contained for now. Tarn nuzzled him. He didn’t want to let go, not quite yet.

“If I have ever questioned your loyalty before, consider my doubts gone.”

 

“My loyalty is with you. You afforded me my life even without trust. You upheld your end of a deal I had no leverage in.” It sounded absurd to Pharma, but it was actually the truth. Tarn had given him his life back, with little to no cost to be paid. It wasn't like Pharma didn't enjoy all those interfaces. Much the opposite, since he missed them now. Tarn's passion was a thing of beauty, he decided, and he craved for it to return, and be directed at him.

“What will we do? Hunt down Decepticon high command? I can't imagine everyone has surrendered. They wouldn't have Megatron, no matter if altered or not, broadcast such a verbal call to stand down if the war was convincingly won. Maybe there's still entire armies out there, fighting despite Megatron’s betrayal.”

Maybe they all lacked direction as Tarn now, and needed to be pushed in the right direction. Pharma let his fingers run over Tarn’s face. He was beautiful, for such a hefty mech. 

“Whatever you decide, I am with you.”

 

“We hunt down traitors.” That has always been Tarn’s job -- leading a highly specialized task force for a specific purpose. Even Grindcore’s staff had been less than a hundred mecha. Tarn didn’t  _ lead  _ armies.

“We hunt Megatron, and we… make him pay. We will need resources for that. I know a Decepticon, Deathsaurus, who has a warworld’s worth of mecha on hand. Perhaps we will approach him. Maybe Soundwave is still out there, leading the last loyal few.”

So many  _ maybe _ ’s. All of this rested on such uncertain plans, uncertain foundations. Tarn missed the stability of his old world.

“I will kill Megatron, personally. For betraying us.”  _ For betraying me. _

 

Alright. That was a start. Not quite the ambitions Pharma had in mind for his murderous, beautiful leader, but it was a direction to head into. Warworld. He'd only read some very unbelievable reports on those. They could house armies, entire colonies. Pharma would have to make sure to be a more convincing Decepticon follower.

“That's what he would want, isn't it? He betrayed himself and all who believes in him. You were his most loyal. His best. It is your duty to kill this disgrace.”

Pharma wrapped his arms around Tarn’s neck, leaning their helms together for just a moment.

“I will do whatever you need me to.”

 

Pharma was close enough for Tarn to see the fine details of his face. They’d never been this close before, he realized. Even when interfacing, or lying together after it, their faces had been held apart by space and Tarn’s mask. Why would they be any closer, anyway? There was little for Pharma to do with his face as it is.

Until now.

Tarn would deny it, later, under even the pain of torture, but it was he who moved first. There was no one else but Pharma to cling to, and why not seal this with another gesture of intimacy, as they always had?

Wind blew over the snowy dunes as Tarn kissed Pharma.

 

It was definitely new, and it marked the occasion. Their positions were no longer the same, their games not in place anymore. Pharma hadn't been kissed in so long, he was surprised that Tarn knew how. It wasn't dominating, it was desperate and lonely and Pharma melted into it, kissing Tarn with every ounce of passion he could summon. Pharma could be very, very passionate when it came down to this mech who acted as the pivot of his life.

_ Tarn was his. _ This just sealed it for Pharma. He would make sure he could help, whether it be concocting another virus (he had made some interesting use of Overlord) or persuading any potential allies with upgrades.

Pharma silently promised that to Tarn,  tracing his lips, his glossa, completely allowing the moment to absorb him. He forgot about the cold. He forgot about everything. Only Tarn mattered. Only Tarn existed and belonged to Pharma. 

 

The kiss wasn’t a romantic venture sealing their love. It was… a promise. A chaster version of them interfacing, though rife with greater meaning than just mutual satisfaction. Tarn clutched Pharma like a dying man in the desert would water, his field trembling with a vicious whirlpool of emotions that refused to settle. Snow crunched under them as Tarn leaned back to lay down, taking Pharma down with him.

Hisses of steam came up around them as Tarn’s plating came into contact with the cold snow, melting it. 

“Will you guide me, when I stray from my path?”  _ Foolish, foolish, he will do the exact opposite.  _ “Help me, if I fall?”  _ No, he won’t _ . “Give me purpose?”  _ He’s a liar. _

_ I don’t care. Not anymore. _

 

Pharma had little choice in following him down, but he didn't mind he adjustment. Tarn was still wavering, field flicking out his uncertainty, his distrust. Even as he asked for some kind of vow from him now.

Pharma would take any pledge to possess Tarn. His greed for the mech knew no bounds.

“I promise it, Tarn. I will be at your side. I will guide you to your purpose, remind you of what you could be. You will not fall again. I won't let you. We'll soar, you and I.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

They interfaced there, out in the snow. It left them a foot deeper in the snow from all the heat produced and lukewarm water between their seams. When they came back to the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ , no questions were raised, though Nickel gave them both a look that said too much.

The course for the warworld took two weeks to navigate. In that time, Tarn swung between his usual determined self, and his depressive lows where he found only solace in holding Pharma and telling him the fears that plagued him. Those were bad days (though Pharma might disagree).

In the end, though, they came upon Deathsaurus. He and Tarn had talked, before it broke down into a vicious fight only stopped by Tarn’s threat then the warworld commander’s ultimatum. Once the unpleasantries were over, however, came the time to plan.

It took long hours of private meetings with Deathsaurus to hammer out how their partnership was meant to go. Long hours Tarn was off the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ , alone with only the beastformer for company.

 

Long hours of Pharma going completely and utterly stir crazy, picturing the most absurd things that could be happening on the war world itself. Why was Tarn alone? Why had Deathsaurus wanted to meet so privately? Why could they not discuss the parameters of their alliance where Pharma could see and hear and think about it?

He'd paced the medibay until Nickel threw him out with the snarled commentary of suggesting a cold shower. Snappy old glitched mechanic had no idea. Tarn was still vulnerable to influence and Pharma didn't know enough about Deathsaurus to be the judge of how possible it was for him to handle Tarn. And not just as an ally.

Frag it. He couldn't stay here. He could at least go find out a little more about the war world and it's capabilities as well as its commander. Tarn hadn't given him orders specifically to stay put, so Pharma wouldn't.

He wandered away from the ship, away from the dock. Everything was teeming with Decepticons. Maybe he should have gotten himself a fake badge at least, instead of having a blank chest.

 

The brightly colored medic wandering around in their midst would have been enough to draw attention. Add in a blank chest and no sigil in sight, and well… it was bound to happen. Three mecha peeled away from the crowd, drawing close in on Pharma.

“Hey. Hey. Who’re you supposed to be, huh? I haven’t seen you around, before.”

“Suppose he’s a Neutral?”

“Nah, look at ‘im. He’s got war kibble, no way.”

One grabbed Pharma by the wing. “We’re talking to you, mech. Who’s your commander, huh?”

 

_ Lowlife. Vermin. Brutes. _ Pharma bristled as they turned their attention to him, even had the audacity to grab at him. A sneer wavered on his face. Of course these common thug Decepticons were all the same, bored, violent, with no respect or intellectual capacity.

The saw was halfway sunk into the mech’s arm who'd grabbed his wing before the other could finish asking questions. Metal screeched and armor gave way, though the medic did allow his assailant to keep most of his arm.

“Don't touch me.” 

That Pharma had just invited worse upon himself, he didn't care about. A mech had to have his boundaries.

 

The mech screeched, holding his damaged arm. His friend turned to Pharma, already bringing out his guns in preparation to shoot.

“Wait!”

“He fragging sawed off Morse’s arm!” He tried to push around the mech that’d put himself between him and the medic. “Frag off before I shoot  _ you  _ too!”

“No, no, wait,  _ look  _ at him. Does he look familiar to you?”

“No, I don’t know his slagging face, you --”

“Scan him! Scan him,  _ look _ !”

“I see nothin’, fragger, now…  _ oh slag _ .”

Blue light came from the aggressive mech, scanning Pharma until it reached a spot on his shoulder. A little stamp Nickel tagged him with, tagged them all with. Above him glowed the purple badge of the Decepticons, though there was the addition of glyphs under it.

_ Decepticon Justice Division. _

“Oh, oh, slag, he’s DJD, you  _ idiot _ !”

The mech who’d protected Pharma punched the one with the gun, and the one still moaning over his arm. “Beg for his forgiveness. Beg, fools!”

“Me and Morse are so sorry, we didn’t realize you were DJD an’ all, it was just a -- a joke y’see…” they were cringing away from Pharma, or more likely, the sigil glowing around him.

 

Oh, Pharma could get used to  _ this. _ The Decepticons were caught between apologizing and cringing and grovelling and Pharma said nothing, transforming his servo back now that he was out of immediate danger. He wouldn't actively thank Nickel, but maybe he would make sure to upgrade her data banks on surgeries more thoroughly.

The respect and the fear afforded to the DJD was intoxicating. Pharma felt at home, being feared. He was going to enjoy his stroll along the war world after all.

“You'll be lucky if Tarn doesn't hear of this. After all, we're all on the same side here. Keep your servos to yourself. And get your friend here to a medic.”

 

The cringes got worse when Tarn’s name was said. People immediately stepped back, though their whispers still could be heard.

“-- we’re on the same side, right? --”

“-- wouldn’t kill us, probably --”

“-- is this real life, Primus --”

“-- please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me --”

Soon enough, a wide berth was afforded to Pharma. His antagonizers were gone, having escaped while they could. No one wanted to touch one of the  _ DJD _ , after all.

_ ::Pharma? Where are you? Nickel said you left the ship.:: _

 

Pharma didn’t feel inclined to answer right away. Tarn had made no contact with him in hours, and now that he was finally going to enjoy himself (and locate a bar), Tarn checked in immediately.  He mentally retracted that favour for Nickel, who had ratted him out what, the second he stepped off the ship?

He wasn’t just Tarn’s pet anymore, thank you very much.

The comm went unanswered for a while, and Pharma got to see the warworld. So many decepticons, living united under Deathsaurus’ command.  It seemed organized, controlled, about as disciplined as a planet full of brutish ‘cons could get. The beastformer must be quite the leader, if he had this many soldiers pledged to him. They’d seceded from Megatron before all this, on grounds that Pharma couldn’t fully remember. That took courage. If the mech wouldn’t keep engaging Tarn in hours of privacy, Pharma might even have wanted to meet him.

As it were, he just met one of the many, many little oil houses all over the place. Even soldiers needed time to relax, and apparently, Deathsaurus valued the comfort of his troops. Another plus.

Pharma strolled into the establishment. It was small, it was dark, and he realized he had nothing to buy energon with. He wondered if word had spread. Did the DJD drink for free? Or would none of the mecha here scan him, in which case, he might convince one of them to buy him a drink; Pharma smirked when the berth around him didn’t persist and he caught sight of a stare that wasn’t all that hostile.

 

One of the universal rules of the warworld: you don’t mess with Deathsaurus. Another was, stay away from the warp engines. The final was  _ pretty mecha always got attention _ .

Several carefully drifted closer, before one made his move. He was larger than Pharma by only a few inches, with thicks wheels along his back, and a disarming grin already plastered on. “Mind if I join you?” he gestured at the seat next to Pharma’s.

Further away, Tarn tried to comm Pharma again.

_ ::Where are you? Do you need help?:: _

_ ::Pharma?:: _

_ ::Pharma, answer me.:: _

Increasingly agitated, he began to prowl through the warworld after waving Deathsaurus off for now. A few helpful (and terrified) mecha pointed him in the direction his medic had gone.

 

“Not at all.” Pharma knew exactly how to work a bar. Soldiers were all the same, no matter which side they were on. Show them a pretty frame like his, and they were game for anything. It was almost too easy.

Potent anger had Pharma silence his comms, ignoring the frequent ping from Tarn’s messages. It didn’t feel good to be left out alone, did it? That his commander might react a little more strongly than Pharma himself to being ignored, the medic didn’t anticipate. He assumed Tarn was still in his meeting with Deathsaurus, doing Primus only knew what. That alone fueled his anger enough to persist his comm silence and give an encouraging smile to the mech that had braved his proximity. 

“I could use a drink, handsome. Can you oblige me?”

 

He was already perking up to Pharma’s inviting tone. “Of course. I’m Prism. You?” Settling in, his smile grew wider.

Meanwhile, outside, the streets were growing deserted the more Tarn stalked through, field growling as he searched for Pharma. Not here, not there,  _ where was he _ ?!

_ There _ . His scans pinged with his presence. Tarn slammed through the oil house’s doors and the proprietor, about to protest, paled and scuttled further away. Conversation lulled as Tarn scanned the room. Then he zeroed in on the medic sitting at the bar with…

…  _ someone else.  _ Some other mech under Deathsaurus’ command, some  _ idiot  _ who didn’t realize just who he was talking to. The sigil wasn’t just protection, it was a stamp of  _ ownership. _

“Pharma,” he said, growling. People shivered, trying to leave.  _ “You didn’t answer me. _ ” Gasps, as pain circulated through the room.

 

Tarn was quick about his wrath, at least. Pharma had known it was him the second the door slammed open. No one else could hunt him down so quickly. The growl of his name had his spinal strut shiver and he turned, expression completely neutral. He ignored the twinge of guilty fear, still a remnant of a time long gone when Tarn’s mere presence meant punishment.

The tug on his spark was mild compared to what he’d experienced before, but he sucked in air sharply nonetheless. 

“I was distracted, Tarn. By riveting conversation.” Well, no, Prism had literally just come to sit at his side, leer and tried to find out his designation when Tarn had waltzed in like the terror everyone thought he was.

“I thought you were busy in a meeting. I thought I’d go out. Mingle. Make some new friends.”

 

Prism had long since vacated his seat, thank you. The bar was half empty now, most of them choosing the wiser part of valor. Tarn stalked in slowly, optics blazing.

“You didn’t answer my comms.  _ Any  _ of them.” Was that a note of hurt? Not really, he just sounded very angry. And hurt, but the usual mech would only sense a building tower of rage. “I don’t recall you getting permission for going out, Pharma.”

 

“I don’t recall being forbidden from leaving, either. No one mentioned anything when I left.” Pharma was a little dismayed that Tarn had found him before even his first drink, which Prism, now nothing but a distant memory, would have bought for him so willingly. Pharma watched Tarn approach. What would he do? Drag him by the scruff to the Peaceful Tyranny? It was Tarn’s own fault for abandoning Pharma to his own devices. They were grounded on a warworld, he couldn’t expect his crew to simply stare out of the window and twiddle their thumbs.

 

“You are now,” Tarn said, grabbing Pharma by the forearm. “We are leaving.” His tone brooked no arguments. He couldn’t imagine why Pharma just… just  _ went out _ and started chatting up any random stranger he came across. Didn’t he  _ promise  _ Tarn? Was Tarn only useful until Pharma’s next ticket to a drink and a ‘face?

Dragging Pharma off his stool, Tarn left the establishment and went half-way up the street before he spoke again.

“If you wanted something, you could’ve just told  _ me _ .”

 

“I would have, but you were busy.” Pharma didn’t much like being dragged along, nor did he appreciate being treated like an incompetent, dependent mech. But Tarn’s reaction was...extreme. It wasn’t like he caught Pharma riding a spike to Cyberutopia. He just wanted some company and a drink.

“Tarn.”

The tankformer was stubborn. Stubborn and  _ upset _ .

“Tarn!” Pharma tugged hard at the claws that had an unrelenting grasp on his arm.

“I couldn’t have commed you out of your meeting. You said it was important. I just wanted a distraction so I wouldn’t have to think about you and Deathsaurus anymore!”

 

“He has nothing to do with this,” Tarn snapped. “You could’ve told me before I left. After I came back. But  _ clearly _ you prefer someone else’s company over mine, don’t you?” He didn’t stop dragging Pharma, nor did he slow down. 

“What if I’d come an hour later? Would you have been  _ just  _ sharing drinks with him?”

 

“Yes!” Pharma snapped. Tarn was being beyond ridiculous. This petty jealousy may be cute on the occasion, but Pharma felt insulted that Tarn genuinely was concerned that the medic would let a bunch of dirty Decepticons that he didn’t even know go to town on him.

“I wouldn’t touch any of them. They’re not you. Do you think...do you think I’m shareware? That I would go out just to spite you and get  _ fragged _ by a horde of Decepticon soldiers?!”

 

If Tarn was feeling reasonable right now, he would back down, go over what happened, and realize he needed to apologize. Because he was Tarn, however, he fought back harder.

“Maybe you would,” he said. “It’s funny how you were so willing to sneer at me, my unit, and Nickel, but here you’re perfectly happy to cozy up with anyone to give you half a look. Feeling a little  _ parched _ , are we?”

Well. He was in too deep now. Might as well go the full nine yards.

“I see  _ exactly  _ where the limits of us are, now.”

 

Pharma bristled with outrage at the gall. Had he ever given Tarn reason to believe he was...what, loyal? They weren’t exactly lovers, or something else, but Pharma hadn’t given a second thought to anybody else since he arrived on the Peaceful Tyranny.

“Limits? What are you talking about? I wanted a drink and to be among  _ people _ , Tarn, is that so unbelievably unreasonable? I haven’t been away from Delphi for half a million years until you picked me up!”

Pharma was hurt, and deeply so. Tarn had gone and claimed something completely uncalled for, and it stung the medic, not just his pride, but the strange new frame of emotions that were starting to build up around Tarn’s entire existence.

“You act as if he was buried to the hilt in me!”

 

“Timing was the only reason why,” Tarn spat, venomous. He pushed Pharma away, anger and contempt roiling in his field. “Go on, I won’t bother you any longer.”

Turning away, Tarn stomped away. He refused to look back, to wonder what Pharma might do now that the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ was more or less off limits to him. He needed to find Nickel to rage at, a drink, and the opportunity to contemplate his plans (read: sulk) before he was ready to face Pharma again.

What a mess.

 

Pharma watched him with disbelief. How could Tarn just rid himself so easily of him? Weren't they more than this to each other, harder to break apart than done with a few sharp words? 

Was Tarn's jealousy stronger than all the times he'd sought solace in Pharma's company? Did this mean more than when the medic held his face in hand, kissed him softly, and whispered poisonous dreams of vengeance into his audial?

So he couldn’t go back to the ship, now that Tarn was in such a mood. He still didn’t have any credits. Any progress done at the oil house he’d visited was ruined now, with Tarn’s tantrum a fresh scar in the collective minds.

Pharma transformed. He needed space from this fickle, mercurial new Tarn, who didn’t know what he wanted, pushing Pharma away whilst trying to pull him closer, strangling the medic’s needs.

Tarn thought he was shareware?

Maybe it was time to prove him right.


	12. Chapter 12

Energon. Heat. Transfluid. Everything was a blur. Was it nuke he'd taken, or a pack of boosters? Pharma didn't know. He could still reel off the reasons why it was all terrible for him, but he felt far too  _ great _ to do so. Living in the moment...he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. 

He also couldn't remember the last time he was with so many mecha. Maybe one of the upper class parties back on Cybertron, after the sixteenth round of shots, when everyone got a little frisky and suddenly needed to lay hand on Pharma's beautifully forged frame.

Although he'd only downed two or three drinks here before the first brave soul approached him for a little more than a smile.

Then, there'd been more, once he proved not entirely unwilling.

And then there'd been spikes nudging at his panels, hands restraining his arms and forceful fingers prying when he wouldn't open up.

It was trickling from his saw, and tickled. Energon. The fresh scent of it scorched the air, but Pharma sucked it in greedily. It served the four dismembered mecha around him right, to be dead. Amongst their limbs and smeared with energon, Pharma wanted to cackle.

_ Shareware _ , Tarn had said. Shareware, these Decepticons had expected. And Pharma had never let them in, never accepted their proposed interface, because they weren't Tarn. And in turn, had killed them all. He was a little damaged, systems reeling with the extra ingredients to his free drinks, scratched up, a dent where their blunt hands had scrabbled to hold him. No dice. Pharma was getting good with his blade.

 

-x-

“Commander, there’s a _ situation _ ...with one of the DJD.”

Deathsaurus’ attendant looked disturbed as he handed his superior an overview of the unpleasant scene, found behind a popular oilhouse.

“Should...I contact Commander Tarn?”

 

Deathsaurus scanned the report, before sighing. Tarn had  _ warned  _ him that his unit was to be respected but… sometimes, mecha didn’t listen. “I’ll call him in,” he told Leozack, “you go handle clean-up.”

“Got it.”

As Leozack left, Deathsaurus brought up the series of private comms he’d shared with Tarn. Mostly arguing over petty details too small to be done in person but too important to be ignored.  _ ::Tarn? There’s been a situation with one of your unitmates, could you go in?:: _

He forwarded the report. The reply came quickly, and the sharp tone was audible even over silent glyphs.

_ ::I’m on it.:: _

 

-x-

 

The bodies were carefully cleared away, though few dared go near the deranged mech in the middle of it all. Leozack looked at the whole thing critically.

“Are you going to fight?” he asked the jet.

 

“Depends. Are you gonna try to frag me too?” Pharma waved his saw, content to stay where he was, on the ground, surrounded by a multi-shaded puddle of energon. He wiped some off his cockpit, dipping it into his mouth. Huh. Kind of sour, when it came straight from the source. The jet leaned his helm back until it clanged against the wall and his optics dimmed a little. Still completely overcharged from the...boosters. Definitely boosters. Those glitches. Seriously, who did they think he was? Some stray neutral, beautiful and helpless medic?

“I wouldn’t recommeeend it.” he drawled. 

 

“... right. No one here wants to frag you, trust me,” Leozack snorted. “Can you get out of that mess? We’re trying to clean, and you’re in the way.”

Leozack dealt with bigger, scarier mecha than this guy. DJD or not, he refused to be cowed. Besides, from how it sounded, Tarn had greenlighted this guy on his excursion. “Your commander will be along shortly to pick you up. Until then, try not to move too much.”

_ ::He’s drugged up. Uuh, looks like circuit boosters. Looks like we need to clean house again.:: _

Drugs were usually given a blind optic here. But once drugs started getting used like  _ this _ … well, Deathsaurus didn’t like it.

 

“Which one is it, mech? Get out or don’t move?” Pharma laughed, completely not intending on moving. He laid back further, shifting so he could be completely on his back, which felt a lot better on his struts. Tarn was going to be furious, and Pharma was going to giggle in his face, because this all was hilarious. He was so good at killing! He didn’t even need them stretched out on a berth on on life support systems. He just cut down three mecha and loved every moment of it. All of his anger had just vanished in their warm innards, the splash of their energon washing away the frustration from earlier.

 

“Well, I’m going to move you,” Leozack said, rolling his optics. “Then you can roll around on your back as much as you want, okay?”  _ Ugh, druggies.  _

Tarn better get here quick.

 

-x-

 

“You said  _ what _ ?”

“He implied it!”

“By Prion’s saggiest left wheel well, Tarn, I can’t  _ believe  _ you did that.” Nickel put her wrench down, staring at him. Her look was doing wonders for Tarn’s belligerence. “Pharma goes out for a  _ drink  _ and you think he’s trying  _ frag  _ someone?”

“He was flirting with a mech.”

“Were they touching each other, laughing? Or literally just  _ talking _ ?”

“He… he wasn’t answering my comms.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . I see. Pharma goes out to get a drink and chat and the  _ minute  _ he doesn’t answer a comm for longer than an hour, you assume he’s gone and hopped on twenty spikes while guzzling another.”

Tarn squirmed. “I didn’t --”

“Then you walk in, grab him and drag him like a battered wife, and start getting angry and jealous and noncommunicative.”

“I was  _ not _ \--”

“I bet you were upset and didn’t tell him why.”

Tarn didn’t bother trying to protest.

“And now there’s a situation with him where he killed four mecha behind a bar and is giggling in a puddle of their fuel. What part of  _ don’t provoke the crazy  _ do you not get? Or better yet,  _ don’t stick your spike in crazy?” _

Tarn fidgeted, not quite meeting her gaze. Nickel huffed, bustling back to her work.

“... I should probably got get him.”

“Maybe you should.”

“And… apologize?”

“If you want to get your spike wet in the next decade, yeah.”

Tarn slunk out of the medibay like the disgrace he was. Finding Pharma didn’t take long and Leozack, Deathsaurus’ second, gave him the sour, bitter look Tarn was associating with second in commands everywhere.

“He’s making energon angels, for fuck’s sake.”

 

Pharma wasn’t listening to Leozack, who had moved, him slightly, but then backed away. Good. Keep away. Everyone should keep away. He’d been laying in the energon for quite some time when Tarn arrived. Everything was still so warm! It was delightful. Pharma really hated the cold.

He sat up, glancing over. Urgh. Tarn was bound to be angry. He didn’t want to deal with that. His servos were still dripping with energon, which was reasonably tasty. Licking the fuel off, Pharma decided that Tarn’s angry rant could wait. His frame wasn’t so responsive as he liked, the transformation sequence lagging behind his commands. Ugh. He couldn’t get his other wing in order. Half-transforming was painful and Pharma sluggishly gave up on it, falling back with a wet splash. So warm. Comfortable.

 

“Just… just take him and go.” Leozack moved out of the way, still glaring.

Tarn moved closer, examining Pharma. The energon in the air pricked his senses, but there was no time for that. Besides, he had Overlord’s back on the ship.

“Pharma?” he said, uncharacteristically gentle. “Can you hear me?”

He remembered what circuit boosters like. They tended to cloud things, once the dosage got high enough.

 

“I don’t want to, but yes.” Pharma murmured, turning his helm away. He didn’t want to look at Tarn. This was his fault. Pharma may have enjoyed himself, in the end, but it all could have happened very differently. He could have lost control of himself in a completely different manner, and he might be among some other bodily fluids now if that were the case.

Stupid Tarn. Stupid jealousy. 

“I’m not getting up. Just leave me here.”

 

“That’s not an option,” Tarn said firmly. He picked Pharma up bridal style, taking care to not squish his wings. “We’re going back to ship so you can get the drugs out. Then, we will have a talk. Do you understand?”

He hadn’t thought Pharma to be the type to consume drugs. Something else, then?

“Were you hurt?”

 

“Was I...look at me!” Pharma wanted to flail out of his grip, but he couldn’t do so even when he wasn’t pumped full of boosters. Instead, he was a sullen, smeared mess in Tarn’s arms. Which were also warm, and comfortable.

“You think I would do this to myself? This is all your fault. Stupid...It’s not like I wanted to take that slag. Drinks...just drinks. It was the drinks. In it. Stupid Decepticons, tryin’ to get me open. Not that easy. No..no no. They screamed a lot. Didn’t see it coming. I cut some spikes off. Serves ‘em right. Kinda wish they had to live with it, but dead’s good too. Slagging wannabe rapists.”

 

“What?” With Pharma, Tarn usually tended to raise his tone -- his vaunted control slipped away around him. But now, here, he was deadly quiet. Soft. “... I see. I will handle it, Pharma.”

Someone was going to  _ pay _ .

Wrapping his field protectively around Pharma, Tarn left without another word. Leozack watched him go, thoughtful. 

_ ::Hey, ‘saurus, since when did Tarn get hitched?:: _

_ ::Huh?:: _

 


	13. Chapter 13

Nickel hooked up the last draining tube to Pharma’s tank, checking ones in his energon lines, before patting him with a nod. “You got real slagged up, mech. This much boosters could put down Helex. No wonder you’re loopy.”

 

A weak groan was her answer as Pharma cycled as much as he could on his own. He wanted the damn things gone, clouding his mind, his sensors. It was maddening. There was good reason these substances were so frowned upon.

“I don’t know how warframes go to battle with this stuff,” he complained, watching the polluted energon drain out of his tank through the tube, “I can’t even transform.”

Nevermind how he’d managed to kill mecha in a state like this. He wished he could remember every vivid detail, but from the first moment the boosters entered his tank, everything was a mess of temperature and delayed reactions, mixed with overly sensitized protocols.

Pharma looked down at himself, relieved to find at least his panel undamaged, minus a few dents where someone had been pushing into his transformation seams, trying to get access. At least that was a clear enough memory.

 

“Explain what happened,” Tarn demanded, sitting across from Pharma. His entire frame was rigid, anger written in every taut line. “You said they tried to  _ rape  _ you.”

Nickel looked up, concern on her face. “They didn’t,” she assured Tarn quickly, “his panel’s undamaged. He must’ve killed them all.”

“I don’t care, someone tried to  _ hurt  _ him!” He slammed his fist on the berth, leaving a sizeable dent behind.

 

“...I don’t remember it all.” Pharma examined the dent from afar, wondering how easily Tarn could have broken one of his limbs. It was both enticing and repulsive how strong the warframe was.

“But I went...to another bar. After you left. I wanted that drink.”

Pharma looked away. Tarn had been so angry, accusing him of something that Pharma didn’t deserve. And yet, look what happened when he ventured out on his own. It was laughable, how easily he could have become a piece of shareware, unwilling or not.

“I met a bunch of mecha. They were really interested in buying me the drink I wanted. Several, in fact. Insisted it was the best stuff on the war world.”

Pharma didn’t mention that he’d been flirty. Tarn probably calculated with that, would shift the blame for what happened on Pharma’s loose nature. He didn’t have a problem accusing him of being  _ thirsty for spike _ , after all.

“I got the gist of what they wanted. They weren’t subtle. Is courting and flirting dead among Decepticons? Because they were...I didn’t...want to.” Pharma focused on the dent. It was better than to try and read Tarn through his mask, with his glowering optics.

“I didn’t...couldn’t open up. Didn’t want to. They weren’t  _ you _ . I guess they got frustrated, because that’s when they dragged me outside. I guess I deserved what was coming, being a piece of  _ shareware _ and all.  I don’t remember much besides killing them after that.”

 

Tarn was aghast. Nickel could tell, he got quieter and his optics took on a peculiar shade of pinkish orange when he was upset. She wisely finished up the last of the draining, before leaving the medibay. You could clean a slab, but you couldn’t clean a mind.

“I didn’t say you were shareware,” Tarn said, careful, “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to say you were. I was… angry. I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

When Tarn found out who the mecha were, their friends, the witnesses, and the bar… he was going to come down on them like a ton of bricks. He placed a gentle hand on Pharma’s leg, softer even as he dreamed up cruel vengeance.

“Pharma, look at me. Please.”

 

He didn’t want to. Pharma’s nature was not a forgiving one, and Tarn had hurt him, deeper than any physical pain that he had ever inflicted upon the medic. Wasn’t this exactly what Tarn had said before? That he’d be happy to suck any spike thrust in his face? That he would skip out the minute Tarn’s back was turned and amuse himself with just about any mecha he could find? 

Pharma was pretty convinced that nothing Tarn would say could ever make him forget that. Reluctantly, he met Tarn’s optics.

“You  _ meant _ it. You said it because you meant it. I guess that’s just a normal assumption among Decepticons.”

Because really, what other function could Pharma serve, in his circumstances? Tarn hadn’t kept him for his talents, or his wit.

 

“I was… jealous,” Tarn choked out. “I’d… commed you to ask if you wanted to… go out. See the sights. Then I saw you, with someone else and… it was upsetting.”

It felt like pulling dentae. Tarn’s confession was reluctant, halting, and filled with shame at his own bullheadedness. “I didn’t want you to go out without me. At all. I was…”

He was visibly struggling at this point. His field shrunk down to barely hovering over his plating as Tarn did his best impression of a very, very uncomfortable owl.

“... I thought you’d see someone else and… and… forget me.”

Primus, someone kill him now. Let Overlord crash in. It would be mercy.

 

“Forget you. You? Don’t make me laugh.” Pharma could see every ounce of Tarn’s discomfort. He pitied him. He pitied the mech for showing him such weakness. His carefully sown seeds were slowly bearing fruit. Tarn cared for him, in a manner of speaking. Cared what Pharma thought, and felt. Wanted to treat him...better. Take him out for a drink, for some private time together.

The poor mech. He had no idea that he was headed exactly to where Pharma wanted him to be.

“I can’t forget you. I never could.”

Was Pharma prepared to take the next step? Even fuzzy from the remains of boosters, he knew it was a big one, and it could end up working against him. But Tarn was so vulnerable right now, he offered himself up. No one could possibly resist.

“I couldn’t even open my panel for someone else, Tarn. I..” Pharma held those crimson optics firmly in his spell, “I love you, Tarn.”

 

Tarn froze. A part of him initially wanted to reject the idea, but another, weaker part hungered for it.  _ Love _ . What did love mean, in the world of Decepticons?  _ Weakness, vulnerability. Loyalty, connection, security. _

Tarn couldn’t say if he loved Pharma. He was still too fragile, still reeling from his losses. But it didn’t stop him from seizing on the confession like a lion on a gazelle, devouring everything from the flesh to the bone. 

“You do?” he asked, eager. He was closer now, leaning over the berth and staring at Pharma with fever-bright optics. “Do you mean it?”

He grabbed Pharma’s hands, folding them up in his own. “You love me?”

 

Pharma was an ocean of calm, even if some part of him hopped with eager excitement. Tarn was so hungry for it, for this to be true. And in a sense, it was. Pharma did love Tarn, for his rescue, for his mercy, for his indulgence. For his weakness for Pharma. Affording the medic a new life, a new place, and a new goal. Tarn was power. Power, Pharma could love. Tarn had vulnerabilities, that he’d shown and cradled into Pharma’s care, where the medic took heed of them and caressed strength into him, taking Tarn’s faults as thread in his web. Oh, he loved Tarn, for falling into this pit that Pharma had dug just for him. 

“I do,” he whispered, and it was sincere, but for all the wrong reasons, or so his former Autobot comrades would have judged them to be. But what did they know?

“I love you, Tarn. I didn’t know, for a long time. Didn’t know why I wanted so much to be with you. In your company, relishing the attention you’ve always given to me. Even when we were enemies. I thought it was hate, when I dreamed of us. I thought I wanted to kill you, until I watched you dying in that chamber. I knew I didn’t. I would give anything to live with you.”

 

Pharma would never know how much that reassured Tarn and strengthened him at the same time. He came as close as he dared, his mask removed, an expression of hope so vivid it was painful fixed to his bared face. He looked gentler, like this. More innocent, despite the scar running down half his face. Without his characteristic glare and scowl, Tarn dropped the last two million years like deadweight.

Under it all, Roller shone through.

“You mean it,” he breathed, reverent, “You  _ mean  _ it.”

He kissed Pharma’s hands, before pressing to his face as he smiled, unseen, into them. “You’re a miracle,” he whispered. “You were what I needed, all along.”

 

It couldn’t have gone better if Pharma had planned it. There was genuine joy and pride flushing his field at Tarn’s praise, at the reverence he radiated. Beautiful fool. Tarn was lucky he had Pharma, to preserve him from falling into the hands of another tyrant. No one, not Megatron nor anyone following in his footsteps, could wrench Tarn away from Pharma now. Never. He belonged him. His life was Pharma’s, just as the medic had promised.

“I don’t believe in miracles,” he spoke softly, cradling Tarn’s face gently, “I believe in you. Your strength. Your will. And my own. And that you and I are better together. Whatever path you choose, I will walk it with you.”

 

“You belong to me,” Tarn murmured, bringing Pharma in close for a kiss. He trailed down, following the flow of cables down his neck before pressing kisses to his collar faring. Tarn didn’t hesitate in his exploration as he growled contentment, eager to serve, even more eager to please.

“I wish I’d met you earlier.” A kiss, where his chest was bare. “You would’ve made me so much happier.” Tarn knelt, so he could kiss Pharma’s waist, then his thighs. “We belong  _ together _ .”

 

_ Earlier. _ When? Before the war began? Pharma doubted that he would have engaged into anything with a mech of a low standing, which was the case for most if not all Decepticons. But he didn’t argue, not when Tarn was so very, very compliant. Finally treating Pharma with the reverence he deserved. 

_ Happier. _ Than what? Would Tarn ever have fallen into Megatron’s clutches, if he’d been safe in Pharma’s? Those were questions never answered, and they didn’t matter here and now. Tarn was on a road that had no return, and no deviations. Pharma would be his all. The medic could do that, channel the loyalty and desire into him, until Tarn would finally relinquish the dead Cause he held so dear. And then, he would bring Pharma a new order. 

He sighed with pleasure at the soft ministrations. Still hooked up to the draining machine, it made for limited actions on his part, but Tarn seemed reasonably content with what he could reach and do.

“And here I was afraid you’d laugh at me for such emotions.”

They did belong together. Pharma, and Tarn, cradled in his palm, a beautiful reversal of their very first meeting.

 

Where would Tarn be without Pharma? Alone, still broken after the truth about Megatron was revealed. Would he have mustered up the will to smash out of the nuke chamber? Track down Deathsaurus for an alliance? Perhaps, perhaps not. Now they were here, Tarn on his knees, staring up at Pharma, and Pharma looking down at him benevolently.

Where to, from here?

Tarn's old pride urged him to rise, to stop grovelling at Pharma's feet like some awestruck fool. Yet the part of Tarn that had been so painfully spurned by Megatron hungered to continue what he'd always done at the base of Megatron's statue and, before, at Megatron's own feet. 

His kisses trailed down, past Pharma's knees and he gripped his legs by the two pieces of kibble that jutted out around his ankles, one red and one white. Careful, he cradled it in his hands, lips trailing over the thin curves of each connected plate until he reached the bottom-most, red portion. 

Tarn spared himself no shame here -- when had shame ever brought him anything worth of happiness? He'd been equally unashamed in his worship of Megatron and didn't Pharma, who had saved him from his demons, deserve such treatment?

Supporting it, he pressed a delicate kiss to the pointed top. Earnest red optics looked up at Pharma. "Thank you," he said, as if Pharma was doing  _ him _ a favor. "For being here. For forgiving me. For everything."

 

Tarn’s reaction went further than what Pharma had predicted, but it was delightful. Perhaps they were ready to skip a few steps, and the tankformer already understood how important Pharma was to his world. His universe. Pharma would consume it all for him, would leave Tarn no room to crumble again. He’d hold him up, never to fall again.

“Tarn...” Pharma was good at speaking softly to get what he wanted. Right now, he had it, and he’d never let it go. 

“Never turn your back on me again. I love you, but I don’t know if I could forgive you if you ever leave me again. You...your life is  _ mine _ .”

Careful. He had to give Tarn everything Megatron failed to. He would have to make Tarn want him, need him, be unable to live without having the medic to protect, to worship.

 

“Yours,” Tarn agreed. He pressed his face to the side of Pharma’s knees. Pharma had vowed to never leave him -- Tarn would hold him to that. He gently rubbed his legs, still staring up at Pharma’s face. “Give me your hands,” he said. “I want to try something.”

 

Pharma reached down, but not before caressing Tarn’s helm. Maybe one day he could convince him to leave the mask off. He was wonderful to behold, so much easier to read. So beautiful, his Tarn. And all his.  He was almost perfect, almost. They would get there. There was no more internal debate about trusting Tarn. He would have to, now that he had sunk into this hole with the DJD commander. Love. It could be his undoing, or his greatest tool yet.

 

Tarn caressed Pharma’s hands, feeling the grooves and clips. It felt so small in his hands, so easily broken. He turned them over, looking at the palms. “Guide me,” he said, “show me where the sensors are.”

His fingers were far larger and likely much clumsier than Pharma’s -- it was just how they were designed. But Tarn could do this much, at least.

 

Pharma’s first instinct was to pull them away, his precious hands, unwilling to risk losing them again. But Tarn was not his enemy, and he wrestled down the urge, instead splaying his fingers wide in Tarn’s dark claws. One hand for show, the other for guidance. He took Tarn’s finger, letting the tip of the claw trace over his palm, following one long seam. 

“This is the most important,” the seam pulled open, revealing various pieces of tools that could fold out to take the place of Pharma’s fingers, “scalpel, torch, laser, soldering...it’s all in here.” His other hand contained diagnostic tools, needles, a tiny set of tongs. Left to hold, right to cut and close.

“You know why I have these, don’t you?” he indicated the long lines of tiny lights, indicating sensors so sensitive they allowed the detection of minimal abnormalities, temperature and pressure. Pharma let his other hand open in Tarn’s palms as well. He enjoyed teaching, always did, imparting knowledge he held so easily unto curious minds.

 

“I intend to find out.” Tarn traced the line of lights with his glossa, feeling the tiny bumps under the soft mesh. He ran the tip of a claw over the wet stripe, examining Pharma’s precious hands. “I can’t imagine having such delicate hands,” he confessed, “I do so much with mine, to think if they were as sensitive as yours… I would never get anything done.”

He massaged Pharma’s other hand, trying to locate where the sensors were supposed to be. “How many of these are there?” he asked.

 

Pharma didn’t even try to suppress the shudder. Those sensors were intended for surgery, for delicate work, and such brash sensation on them was unbearable, in a good way.

“Two hundred. In each hand. And if I had your servos, I could not be a medic. There may be versatility in strength and,” Pharma appraised those claws, having experienced them on and in his own frame, “ferocity, but for what I do, I must have tools. Which is why I was so very personally offended by Ratchet’s theft. Nevermind that he tried to kill me. That was understandable. But to take my  _ hands _ from me...”

 

“Let’s not talk about him,” Tarn said, because that way lay killing the mood, “Can you show all your sensors at once?” People talked about Seeker wings, and medic hands. Their supposed infamous sensitivity, above all. Tarn had never put much stock in such rumors but, well… he had a medic right here, didn’t he?

The few visible lights he still carefully touched, wondering. Watching Pharma, Tarn pressed them to his mouth and hummed. Soft vibrations, strengthened by his talent, passed through and onto the lights.

 

“Tarn!” Pharma’s voice actually hitched, and any semblance of trying to explain anything else about his sensors went right out of his processor. The sensation was such a sharp sting of pleasure that it bordered on painful. The vibrations felt like half an overload, being rushed through his exposed sensors like that. The medic’s vents rattled, sputtering out stray energon from his earlier victims in the process, which Pharma took no notice of.

“Tarn that’s, that’s too much.” he gasped, fingers curling.

 

“Hm?” he pulled away at Pharma’s sharp inhale, then glanced down at his hands. “So there  _ is  _ some truth to the myths,” he said. Pharma didn’t seem to be in pain, but he still seemed a little… taken aback. Too much, then?

“Slower?” he offered. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

 

“I...can. I just never...do that.” Pharma vented deeply, before turning his hands palms up and spreading his fingers until every tiny piece extended away from the basic frame. It turned his smooth, blue servos into a complicated web of medical tools, lined with a sheer infinite amount of small, blue lights. 

“Go slower. I’m not sure if I can, but it feels like you’re overloading me through my hands.”

 

“Isn’t that a good thing? We could go slower, so it doesn’t start too fast?” Tarn examined the line of blue lights dotting Pharma’s palms. His voice was a no-go for now, since it overwhelmed Pharma. He ran his glossa over a line of lights, taking care to keep his touch on the light side. For now, this was just simple exploration of Pharma’s limits.

Tarn located a tiny blue light at the edge of Pharma’s thumb, twinkling at him with three others. It looked a little more isolated than the rest, so he put it to his lips and sucked. Carefully, so he didn’t push Pharma too hard. “On a scale of one to ten, how much was that in terms of  _ too much _ ?”

 

“A solid nine,” Pharma breathed, not sure if the shivers running through his sensory net were entirely compulsive or not. Sensors weren’t made for this much stimulation, and Tarn was pushing the limits and challenging Pharma’s protocols. It was an admirable effort, and in Pharma’s spark, charge was swirling. It was definitely new and different. Usually, it would cycle up from his array, spreading in the correct channels. Now, it was flowing through spaces never intended to resist or support this much input.

“You almost like you’re conducting research,” a smile crept over Pharma’s features, softening the sharp lines of his face. For Tarn, he could look this way. He could feel this vulnerable and yet safe, because Tarn was cradled in the palm of his fragile servo.

 

“Nine? Just that?” Tarn lowered Pharma’s threshold further mentally. It boded good things for the future, however.  _ Interesting  _ things. “And research is important -- the better I know you, the better the interface.”

Tarn bent down to suck a line down the side of Pharma’s hand. He regulated himself, so he didn’t accidentally end up hurting Pharma somehow. Then he eyed the web of tools. “Can you move those?”

 

Pharma gasped sharply again, Tarn was really pushing the envelope of what was acceptable, pleasing, and _ too much _ . He could hardly focus on their conversation. What had Tarn said? Move his fingers, his tools?

“Which...ones?”

He flicked one of the scalpels, and the little flash light that accompanied the blade in the deep recesses of mecha’s frames.

“The blades,” Tarn specified, “and those two, that are sticking out.” He pointed at them. “Could you move them down, so they’re aligned with your palm, or at least less… in the way?”

Pharma’s hands were still chock full of various tools, but they were less worrying than the scalpels. Tarn’s panel slid aside, letting his spike out, and he stood. Carefully, he guided Pharma’s hand to it -- avoiding the lights so he didn’t press on any.

“Trying to touch you like I usually do won’t work. So we’re going to try this. Rate it, same system.”

 

Blue optics blazed a little. It was kind of absurd, for his scalpels to rasp against Tarn’s spike. It wasn’t armored, it could easily be damaged severely if he just slipped once.

“You..trust me,” Pharma muttered, impressed. This was a strange sort gesture, but he appreciated nonetheless. Tarn’s ridges would over-work his sensors, he already knew that from his past experiences concerning his valve.

 

“I told you, I do,” Tarn said, surprised by Pharma, “besides, if it gets damaged, you can fix it. I’ve had worse than a cut. Actually, it’s… fine. If you cut, I mean.” There were some places a spike was not meant to go, period. But Tarn’s peculiar set of interests meant that he rarely listened to that kind of common sense. A little pain could go a long way.

Taking Pharma by the wrist, he slowly moved his hand down the length of his spike. He felt the bump of tools against the softer purple mesh, drawing a brief shudder from him. There was nothing here that could conceivably  _ cut  _ his spike off, other than Pharma’s saw, but...

Another shudder, as something thin passed over the tip of his spike. Fluid began to bead at the tip as Tarn sighed, treads tightening with his muted, but growing, arousal.

“Is it too much?  _ Will _ it be too much?”

 

“No,” Pharma breathed out, optics dimming as the charge ran steadily up through his fingers, travelling along his arms and flooding into the rest of his frame, dissipating lightly as it did. The waves of it became steadier, with each drag of Tarn’s spike over Pharma’s sensors.

“It’s...it’s strange. My entire frame is tingling,” Pharma allowed himself to laugh gently at that. It was something weird and personal, this moment between them, and he let it slither through his defenses. He didn’t need to keep himself under close watch with Tarn anymore. It was liberating. He was free from another burden. 

“I’ve never felt so much of you, this vibrantly...I can’t describe it well.”

His sensors were going through an entirely new experience, and Pharma worked hard to categorize each sensation. It would overload him, he knew that already. His sharp tools slid over Tarn’s spike and the mere heat of it beneath his hands had Pharma feel greed, eager hunger. He flared the raw desire through his field at Tarn.

“It’s wonderful.” Pharma whispered reverently. This was the gentle kind of exploration that only his confession had made possible.

 

It took a considerable amount of Tarn’s willpower to not thrust into Pharma’s grip wantonly. He  _ wanted  _ to, but the constant reminder that Pharma’s sensors would get overwhelmed held him back a fraction. His willpower, however, was buffeted by Pharma’s awed little noises below him and he eagerness of his field, already mingled tightly with Tarn’s own.

Tarn continued to guide the jet, getting him to grip a little harder, drive his tools in a little deeper, and fluid dripped steadily. It glowed slightly straight from the source but dulled down to a pearlescent pink. Small drops pit-patted onto Pharma’s thigh.

“Don’t stop,” Tarn gasped, trying to find something to steady himself with. He located the overhead bulkhead, and held onto that, putting a shallow dent into it. 

 

It was invigorating, seeing Tarn become unhinged by this dangerous and strange way of touching, pleasing each other. Pharma was greedy to learn where the tank’s borders lay, how far he was willing to go in this exploration of connecting each other in new ways.

Pharma made sure to keep everything bladed pointed downward, lifting his hands slightly every time Tarn drew his spike back. It made Pharma’s mouth run dry, to look upon it without feeling it breach his frame. He almost mourned the sensation. If his sensors weren’t so overly stimulated by every bump and ridge, he would complain.

“I don’t ever want anyone else to see you this way, Tarn,” Pharma’s scalpels danced over delicate mesh, suggesting, edges kissing gently for now.

 

“That’s… ah, that’s up to you,” Tarn said, voicing grow sly despite the breathy quality of it, “and how well you can keep me.” Did he ever dream of straying? No. But he could hint at it, if it brought out such delicious things from Pharma.

There was a sharp sweep of air from his dorsal vents when the edge of a scalpel whispered over his spike. The ridges were slightly more armored than the top side, but still vulnerable, and the thin slice was barely, so tiny -- yet Tarn crushed the bulkhead as his entire body  _ shifted _ . Plating lifted, sliding out of their usual locations as if to transform, though his frame remained upright. Circuitry, normally not exposed, shone in the light as Tarn entire body tensed as if to fight an enemy that wasn’t there. His guns were still offline but they were pointed downwards, at Pharma.

Ragged vents escaped him as Tarn fought down his instincts. There was more than just alarm in his field, however, as contradictory waves of  _ excitement  _ fought with  _ agitation.ei _

 

Pharma detailed Tarn’s reaction with medical precision and morbid curiosity. Was that a defensive response? Or an involuntary, warframe compulsion to respond to the unknown with offense? Fascinating. And in any other situation, threatening, but here, Tarn used the bulkhead instead of him. 

“I’ll make sure to keep you well, then.”

Tarn’s words were less pleasant than the dramatic response of his frame. Pharma didn’t like the thought of Tarn finding anyone else enticing, but after his jealousy towards the medic himself from earlier, it was unlikely. Tarn fully believed Pharma’s confession...he would not think of anyone else for a long time. Pharma would make sure of it, personally.

The light touch of his scalpel had been too much. He retracted it, soothed the razor-thin line with a little coolant container. Temperature was something he could also manipulate, one of his ‘spare’ tanks filled with liquid nitrogen in case of overheating components during surgery.

He allowed a minimal amount to touch the mesh previous cut. The sensation should be scalding, even for a warframe.

 

He’d expected Pharma to be a little more disturbed than that, but the jet took on the sudden change of his body in stride. In fact, he went a little further than that.

Tarn’s claws dragged down the bulkhead, ripping into it, and he forced out a low hiss through his dentae. The cut and whatever Pharma had done should feel like  _ so little _ , yet it wasn’t on his outer plating, it was on one of the most sensitive parts of his whole body. Everything felt heightened and Tarn was heartily encouraging this adventurous streak in Pharma.

“You… enjoy this?” Tarn’s kinks were one thing. Pharma’s were another beast.

 

“What is there not to enjoy?  _ Look _ at you,” Pharma spoke quietly, but with a feverish interest that was not at all feigned. The medic craved his possession, marvelling at Tarn’s frame and how it worked itself around every sensation. The shifting, the way the uncharged weapons tracked Pharma...Tarn was a glorious tool for his needs.

“You may not have been forged...but there is beauty in the savage nature of your frame, my dear Tarn. I cannot stop.”

Enough of the nitrogen. Pharma dared to brush one hand over the top of Tarn’s spike, dragging his tools and sensors just hard enough to make himself gasp and his vents flutter open sequentially. Then, the pinprick bite of needles, piercing between where one ridge flowed into the next. Pharma’s other hand repeated the process, on the underside, near the base of the spike.

 

“Is it the pain? Or the… control?” Besides the transfluid, slivers of energon trickled out from the cut and the pricks Pharma left on him. Tarn’s field was a mess by now, as his knees trembled to keep him upright. It didn’t even hurt, but how it  _ felt _ …

The pain wasn’t even an issue anymore. Tarn’s biolights flared brighter, making the energon almost luminescent. 

 

“Does it matter?” Pharma enjoyed both, to an extent, but it was the power he had over Tarn that he relished most of all. He retracted the needles, sensors flaring as he moved his hands over the spike in a languid stroke. Once he reached the tip, he felt his field frizz with static. Not much more, or he’d lose his sensors, overloading them hard might cause damage. 

“You’re not in pain, are you Tarn? Not from this. Not with me.”

 

“It does.” Tarn’s ability to pin down just  _ what  _ Pharma liked depended on his honesty and willingness to answer. He liked this, that was never in doubt, and so did Pharma -- but what aspect? He’d shown his desire to have control, or…  _ dominance  _ over Tarn, that much was clear. But that only brought up more questions than answers.

Pharma’s touch was light -- likely to spare his sensors than to tease -- and even knowing that, it was frustrating. Tarn wanted to  _ follow up  _ on what he felt, to chase sensation until it drove him over the edge of overload. Like this, it was… hanging. In a state of limbo, not quite there in either direction and unable to drive himself without shattering the fragile moment.

“It does hurt.”

But that didn’t mean it was  _ bad _ , per se. A lot of other frames didn’t get this -- they didn’t get how warframes like Tarn’s worked. It was… a world of washed out colors, in terms of sensation. 

Touch was temperature and pressure, read out on HUDs and judged clinically. Warframes didn’t get the delicate circuits of wings and hands. It wasn’t bad, in Tarn’s opinion, since he spent so much of his time fighting. You can’t miss what you never knew, after all.

But yet… sensation, any at all, was always craved. A good fight was an explosion of sounds, pain, and every single sense primed to maximal performance. Interface was similar -- touching, feeling,  _ falling _ . This here was… painful. It felt good, but objectively, it hurt more than it felt pleasureful. 

But that wasn’t  _ bad _ . Sensation was sensation and pain could deliver as much as pleasure.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Pharma could, if wanted. Tarn could --  _ would  _ \-- take it.

 

There was no understanding from the medic of a warframe concept of pain and sensation. It wasn’t something he’d ever bothered to explore. Warframes had a different perception of pain to make them useful in their function. It meant they had dulled sensors, required dampener only for the most finicky of surgeries and could keep fighting even when they were blown to pieces. It was common knowledge, and Pharma had never thought about it. It was too easy to assume every frame reacted as his own.

“Do you want me to? You and I know I could.” Pharma didn’t feel a huge urge to do so, this was supposed about the reverent treatment of him as the new center of Tarn’s universe, but the strong response he was receiving as well as Tarn’s spectacular shifting was fascinating and bringing him charge in an entirely new manner.

 

"You could." There was another upside to the pain -- it let him keep his clarity of mind. Tarn stared down at Pharma, taking in his expression, the glee behind those blue optics. He craved all of Tarn. Craved... mastery? Ownership? Tarn's feelings on the matter were complex. Some part of him rebelled at the thought of being submissive to Pharma. After all, hadn't he proven that he was clearly the stronger force in this farce of a relationship? He was the one who was loved, the one who decided when and how they interfaced, who decided on every aspect of Pharma's life from when he slept to what he drank.

Submission wasn't as simple as giving power to Pharma. Nor was it allowing him power, either. It was... giving Pharma himself, and knowing he would take everything he could. Yet even that failed to encompass the strange complexity of whatever it was they were doing.

"My valve," Tarn blurted, "you've never asked for it. Why?"

 

Pharma didn’t like handing Tarn so much space in their conversation. It was derailing away from the wonderful reverence the tank had afforded him earlier. Pharma wanted more of that, now, instead of questions. His hands stilled on Tarn’s spike as he considered this one though.

“...I always thought that using a valve for interface was a sign of submission in Decepticon...culture,” he was loathed to call it that, but for the sake of gaining some answers, he better not call the savage nature of his former enemies just that.

“You’ve never been in a position to submit to me. I have no desire to  _ conquer _ you, Tarn.” It was so much sweeter to be offered everything in tribute.

 

“Then are you  _ submitting  _ to me?” Pf. Tarn didn’t put much stock into the labelling of arrays and giving one this meaning and the other that meaning. A spike was a spike, and a valve was a valve. He used his spike for his personal reasons, not because he thought he should.

“Do you  _ think  _ you could conquer me?” Pharma’s annoyance was endearing. Now was the best time for questions, when he wanted something and could be teased along.

 

Tarn had recovered entirely too much from the shock of Pharma’s confession. The medic grew more impatient by the second, very tempted to pull his hands back entirely. 

“I prefer using my valve to my spike...” he muttered. It wasn’t embarrassing, but it was personal and unnecessary and yet Pharma had shared it anyway with Tarn. The closer the tank believed himself to be to Pharma, the more convincing his confession. 

“I think I could, but not in the way you’re thinking,” an idea formed in his mind and a smirk followed on his face. He would have to disconnect himself from the draining tank first, though.

“Are you _ finished  _ with my hands?”

 

“Depends on what you’re planning,” Tarn said neutrally. He watched Pharma, somewhat wary. He didn’t think Pharma would hurt him, but the peculiar gleam in his optics promised… things. Things Tarn wasn’t entirely sure of.

Sitting down on the berth, Tarn watched Pharma fiddle with his draining tubes. “I’m ready,” he said, still cautious.

 

Pharma could see that Tarn was ready, the tankformer and his own thighs already decorated with various fluids. Calmly, he detached all the tubes of the draining machine, then turned his attention to Tarn. Maskless Tarn, whom he could kiss so very easily. 

“Alright. Just stay like this. Let me do what I want to.”

Delicate blue fingers patted Tarn’s face one last time, before Pharma stood up, finding a better position kneeling in front of the seated tankformer. With gentle nudges, he parted those massive legs, shuffling himself into the space. He had done this before, vaguely, but back then, he’d been filled with despair and fear. Now, this was his privilege.

Tarn’s spike was still out in the open and Pharma could finally touch it as he pleased, without every motion becoming painfully stimulating. The medic kissed the tip of it, entertaining himself by tracing it with his glossa. But this was just the first step. He needed Tarn to relax, and not to watch him so closely.


	14. Once Upon A Time on Delphi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback time

**_Back in the past…_ **

 

“Tarn, we’re detecting life signs on Messatine’s surface.”

“Miners, or something else?”

“It… looks like a clinic.”

“I thought they’d learn, after what we did to the last one.” Tarn straightened, smirking under his mask. “Armed?”

“Nothing I can see. I think they were banking on the fact that we wouldn’t come back.”

“As long as Messatine produces nuke, that remains an optimistic dream. Take us down. I’ll see what kind of set-up they have myself.”

The clinic of  _ Delphi _ was rather pitiful, in Tarn’s opinion. It was smaller than the previous incarnations, lacking much of the outer defenses and soldiers that’d populated the old  _ Oracle  _ and  _ Seer  _ bases. A step down, then.

_ Sacrificial lambs? _

The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ settled down in the snow. Tesarus and Helex were in their quarters, while Vos and Kaon manned the bridge. Tarn left them to attend to his quarters, where his personal comms console was. Getting Kaon to pull out the general channel for  _ Delphi  _ was child’s play. As Tarn relaxed with the warm taste of a vintage warming his tanks, he waited for his face to be broadcasted into the office of whomever had control over  _ Delphi _ .

“Hello,” he said, his rich voice strengthened by the knowledge that he didn’t need to threaten to be dangerous, “I am Commander Tarn, of the Decepticon Justice Division. I see that the Autobots still have  _ hope  _ despite the destruction of their previous mining efforts.”

He paused, letting his introduction sink in. “I will make this  _ exceedingly _ simple for you. You will come out, in person, to negotiate your  _ immediate _ surrender to me. Or, I can come down personally, drag you out into the snow, and make you apologize for having wasted my  _ time _ . Then every single individual in  _ Delphi  _ will be summarily executed.”

 

So there it finally was. The catch Pharma had been waiting for, ever since he left Cybertron. He’d studied the history of the previous clinics, accessing files denied to him and his security clearance. Autobot High Command couldn’t just expect him to go quietly into what was essentially an isolated, unspoken exile, could they?

Destruction. Death. Annihilation. Twice now, the mining operation had been halted by staggering attacks, definitely born of Decepticon hands.  The only piece of the puzzle that Pharma never had was the identity. He supposed it didn’t matter.

And he’d settled here. Delphi was a very...humble clinic. Repairing miners and guards had become a dull and repetitive task, not worthy of his skills. He’d taken on staff, though he had little choice in the matter. First Aid, a decently capable nurse. Ambulon...a ‘reformed’ Decepticon, pledged to his services now as a Ward Manager. And a handful of vaguely talented medics that required his tutelage to become acceptable at all. 

Pharma had fallen from grace. He knew that after the first day here. Every hope he’d had of regaining some reputation by leading a clinic had died when he walked the cold halls of Delphi and surveyed the ancient equipment, probably the remains of previous installations. High Command had screwed him over royally.

Still, he gave it his all. Made up for lacking resources with skill and pragmatism. It was manageable, in the long run.

Until the long run became very short.

The sensors picked up a ship closing in with no identification, and no open channels. No friendly would ever think to approach the base in such a manner. They’d waited, hoping that the weak shielding and cloaking would be enough to let the clinic pass unnoticed. That had been in the morning.

By noon, Delphi still stood, and the staff breathed their relief. Pharma sent them back to work, with no exceptions but himself. He’d been pondering over a report, how he could phrase things politely yet urgently enough for HC to respond. 

And then, a nightmare message, delivered right to his personal console in his office, with no warning.

A nightmare visage, sprawled all over his screen, a dreadful purple symbol that Pharma had hoped never to see so personally. There was Decepticon pride, and then there was  _ Decepticon Pride _ .

Clearly, this one was the latter. 

Should he answer?

What could he answer? Shock froze his systems, something in his processor wise enough to panic silently rather than physically. 

Decepticon Justice Division. Even Autobots knew of their murderous rampages. The personal hitsquad of Megatron himself.

What were they doing here? 

The message spoken in a haunting voice answered that question handily. So they were the Decepticons responsible for the destruction of the previous clinics.

And now, their commander had personally delivered an ultimatum for a repetition of history.

Pharma numbly flicked his console off. He would not speak with such a monster, not show his face. It would be stupid to do so, give the DJD a face to recognize when they inevitably came down upon all of their heads.

Stiffly, he stood up and began pacing.

They were so unbelievably _ fragged _ .

There was no way their guards could hold off this particularly nasty force of enemies. 

Immediate surrender. Was that a real option? Would they not just kill everyone anyway? 

Pharma walked back to the console. He had to do something. He was the CMO of the facility, everyone was under his command and his responsibility. The channel was still open.

The nightmare face still there.

Pharma suppressed a shudder and cleared his vocalizer. No video feed from his end, only audio. He would not give them pleasure of seeing fear on his face.

“This is the Chief Medical Officer of Delphi. What...are your terms for our surrender? Aside from a personal meeting?”

 

Tarn  _ smiled  _ at the waver in the ‘bot’s voice. He was remarkably steady, anyway. Some mecha outright  _ gibbered  _ when Tarn spoke to them. 

“Might I have your designation first?” he purred, the thin veneer of civility stretched all over his words. As if he didn’t  _ just  _ threaten brutal homicide. “It’s terribly impolite of you, since I introduced myself.”

This promised to be  _ entertaining _ .

 

He should cut the communication, and rush an emergency signal to High Command. That would be the rational choice, the one demanded by Autobot rules and regulations for situations of peril. At least, for non-combatants.

But Pharma knew help, should it come, wouldn’t beat the DJD to it. They were already _ here. _

“...Apologies,” yeah right. Since when was it necessary to speak politely with a murderer? Pharma ground his dentae.

“My designation is Pharma. Your terms and coordinates for this...meeting?”

 

“ _ Pharma _ .” Tarn tasted the two syllables as they rolled out of his mouth. A medical name, clearly. “Where  _ Oracle  _ once was. I trust you know it?”

_ Oracle  _ was a bombed out, non-functional base standing seventy-seven kilometers away from  _ Delphi _ , next to several caved in mine shafts. It was far larger than  _ Delphi _ , the last site of Autobot ambitions before they were forced to give up, and equally imposing for it. It was a symbol the DJD’s domination over this planet, no matter how many troops the Autobots tried to send. Messatine was DJD stomping ground, plain and simple.

“I’ll see you there at sundown,  _ Pharma _ . Don’t be late.”

 

This time, Pharma cut the transmission without intending to return to it. Once the line was dead, his pacing resumed. But everything in his office seemed to be spiralling in, the walls threatening to collapse onto him, bury him alive...Pharma stepped out into the hallway, venting hard. He realized that anyone could see him and looked around, but no one was close by. He had sent them all to work, after all. 

Oh Primus. What was he going to do? What could he do? High Command was already making it very clear how little Delphi meant in the grand scheme of things. They wouldn’t help. He had until sundown.

Panic clawed its way up his spinal strut, congealed his throat, his neck-cables. He could...run. Right now. Hope for a shot at disappearing before Delphi burned like Oracle before it. 

“Pharma? Are you alright?”

Damn it to the pits. First Aid wasn’t even supposed to be up here!

“I’m fine. Don’t you have a patient to attend to?”

The nurse didn’t shrink back, growing more resilient to Pharma’s mercurial temper every day. The little glitch. 

“Fortress Maximus is stable. I already checked. Are you sure you’re alright? Your field is pretty-”

“I said I’m fine!” Pharma snapped, regretting it instantly as First Aid’s visor darkened. No. He couldn’t let anyone believe he was under any distress. Informing his staff of anything at this point would cause panic, and then, none of them stood a chance.

Pharma could handle this. He’d been a great conversationalist at many functions. He could...handle a negotiation with a monstrous Decepticon.

“I’m just a little anxious about the shipment. It’s late and we need those refiners on site.”

First Aid visibly relaxed, nodding his agreement.

“It’s not your fault, Pharma, we all know you’re working your hardest to keep this place running.” 

The respect in the nurse’s voice grated on Pharma’s sensibilities. They did all look up to him, whether they liked it or not. He was  _ responsible  _ for their safety. Their future. He was their CMO.

He had to go meet a monster.

“...Thank you First Aid. Get back to work.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still flashback!

Landing on a snow bank shouldn’t be so darned uncomfortable. Pharma felt water running from his vents, already caked in a new layer as he took his first couple of steps in the desolation that used to be Oracle. 

Messatine’s nights were dark, and the snow only offered a glared reflection of Pharma’s lights. The wind howled around the skeletal remains of a building, and the medic saw nothing beyond the small circle of light of his own making.

 

Tarn’s dark plating blended in with the darkness of the base  _ very  _ well. When he emerged, biolights flaring online, he was a shadow lit up only by his frame’s illumination. Pharma was a slight thing, with no visible armoring he could see. Flight capable. On the pretty side. Did that face hide an empty head?

“Hello, doctor,” he crooned, dark voice carrying over the slow breeze perfectly, “Come closer, would you? The wind can be  _ so  _ bothersome.”

Within Oracle’s husk, it would be harder for the flier to maneuver. That way, if he chose to fly, Tarn had a better chance of grabbing him.

 

Pharma’s instincts to fly away were not misplaced, because there was definitely a monster lurking in the darkness. Illuminated only by his biolighting, the mech still looked massive. Definitely large enough to crush Pharma in his grasp. The fact that he was alone didn’t comfort the medic at all.

His legs felt frozen, but he had to move. He couldn’t just be a timid sacrifice, he’d come out here for a reason. The steps towards Tarn felt like a walk to an execution. How did one greet a Decepticon, if not with fire?

Civil.  _ Polite _ . Tarn had put great effort into manners. 

Would it help to grovel? Pharma’s pride twisted into nausea at the thought, but his rational mind dismissed such notions.

Two paces away. Probably one, for a mech that size.

Pharma bowed his helm. Then his knee. Everything in him protested the act.

“We surrender. There’s no need to destroy the facility. It’s a mere clinic.”

 

_ Ooh _ . The doctor made a pretty sight, kneeling like that. Tarn’s growled satisfaction at that. He  _ did  _ like it when they were smart enough to comply. When they weren’t, it got… messy. Fun, but messy.

“Very prudent of you,” he praised, standing tall over the medic, “I  _ was  _ concerned, since so many of you predecessors needed to he handled...  _ differently _ , shall we say.”

Tarn put a hand on his hip, watching Pharma. “Of course, however, there remains the question of  _ why  _ I should spare your clinic. Surrender or not, you are all  _ Autobots _ , after all. Mercy is not the Decepticon way.”

 

Remaining in this position spared Pharma the sight of Tarn. He’d already seen more of the commander than anyone would ever wish to on his screen, he really didn’t need to verify if he was terrifying up close and personal.

And there was that typical Decepticon mentality. Destroy, destroy, kill. 

“You offered this meeting up as a  _ negotiation _ . If there was nothing at all you could find useful about a medical facility, you would not have given me this option.”

Pharma ground his dentae hard, trying to keep the snippish tone from his voice.

“Surely, there must be something you have need of that I can facilitate.”

 

“ _ Careful now. _ ” Tarn’s warning slapped down Pharma’s cheek as if it were an errant fly. He brooked not tone from his unit, much less  _ him _ . “Civility isn’t too much to ask for now, is it?”

Assured with his punishment, Tarn continued. “I  _ do  _ want one thing, Pharma. The question is: can you provide it?” With that, Tarn transformed. It was a quick sequence, sliding into his tank form, staying like that for a few seconds, before transforming back.

“Hear that?” he asked. “You may recognize that as a T-cog about to burn out soon. I require a replacement for that, and for the future.”

 

His spark ached. Pharma had sputtered and clenched a hand to his chest when the irregularity forced a brief spasm. What...what was that? It couldn’t have been a coincidence. He was not terrified enough to be suffering an unstable spark frequency, which meant that it had to have been Tarn. Somehow.

The transformation sequence happening a mere pace away sounded awful. As if the cradle of the t-cog was grinding on cracks and about to cause an oily, stinking mess. Pharma had only seen one or two burned cogs in his life, and they were a nasty business to replace.

Tarn...

Wanted organs? A surgery? 

Was it luck for Delphi, or fully intentional planning by Tarn?

They did have spare parts, a number of cogs among them. And that would suffice?

“You...require transformation cogs. And in exchange? You will let us evacuate?”

 

“Evacuate? Oh, goodness, no.” Tarn’s voice was  _ brimming  _ with indulgence, as if talking to a very slow child. “I want more T-cogs. I want cogs this month, and the month after that, and so on. How could I  _ ever  _ have a steady supply if you got to  _ evacuate _ ?”

Tarn stepped closer, breaching Pharma’s space. He laid a hand on his shoulder vent, stroking downwards to end on his shoulder. “And don’t get any  _ bright ideas _ of running off, either. I can hunt you faster than you can run,  _ Pharma _ .”

 

This must be what the lamb in the lion’s den felt like. Pharma didn’t need to ask if this was a premeditated use for a medical facility that Tarn had had in mind. What did it matter? Delphi was being held...hostage. For t-cogs. It almost seemed ridiculous.

There was no choice left for him in this ‘negotiation’. He could only do what Tarn said, contact HC and hope to be rescued before the monster decided other uses for the clinic.

He looked up. It was a mistake, but he couldn’t flinch away from those burning optics. Weakness was something Decepticons latched onto in a split second and enjoyed tearing it to pieces.

“Can I trust your word that you won’t change your mind, if I do as you say?”

Probably not. Still, perhaps Tarn had a sense of pride that Pharma could appeal to. 

 

A pretty frame to go with a pretty face. Tarn’s attention didn’t divert from the deal, however.  _ Appreciation _ wouldn’t sway him. “Of course,” he said, tilting his head, “you have my word, doctor. As long as you fulfill your end of the deal, I will do mine.”

He grabbed Pharma by the chin, tilting him up higher than what was comfortable. “I want seven T-cogs for the first deadline,” he informed him, “and your private comm. line, for…  _ anything  _ else I may choose. The deadline is three months from now. Do you understand?”

 

The touch was unnecessary, unwelcome and Pharma wanted to jerk away so hard his cables would snap. But control was the name of the game, and if he didn’t have it over himself, he couldn’t hope to influence the future. 

A private line? Was the deal not staggering enough? Seven t-cogs...they had maybe three in storage, and that was a generous assumption. Where was he supposed to find the rest? Tear them from his staff? 

He’d make do. The supplies would come in, surely. He’d just have to request more cogs and hope the ships got through.

“I understand. Are we done?”

His chin was beginning to ache in the grip. His optics flared defiance, but he didn’t spit any of the venomous insults he had in mind.

 

“Done.” Tarn rose, dusting the snow off his knees. “Our deal is made. I’ll keep you to it, Pharma.”

-x-

 

The first deadline came and went. Packages were dropped off by Pharma without a word, before being picked up. As it progressed, however, Tarn engaged Pharma in more and more conversation. About his clinic, about the cogs, about anything that kept Pharma on the ground just a  _ little _ longer. He was clearly reluctant, but too afraid to  _ snub _ Tarn.

Pharma really was quite beautiful. As their transactions started happening more in the daytime, Tarn began to  _ appreciate _ this fact more. He fitted Tarn’s preferences -- slim, intellectual, not too afraid to speak. Everything else was just a bonus. So, he began to plan. A long-term plan, carefully executed by Tarn with gentle nudges to have everything fall in the  _ right _ place. 

The first year of their deal passed without much issue, even when the quota ticked higher. From seven, to ten, to thirteen, and finally… sixteen fresh T-cogs.

“I do hope this isn’t too much for you,” Tarn said, even though his tone said he absolutely  _ did _ .

 

Sixteen. 

The mech was mad. Pharma said nothing, standing in the snow, staring at the box he’d deposited. It was hard work, procuring that many cogs in the short time window that Tarn allowed him whilst keeping everything running smoothly at Delphi. His source of cogs was...questionable, on a moral plain, but a mining accident had left him with an abundance that stretched over two quota deadlines and Pharma had felt nothing short of relief at that. His skills were not in question, no one could have saved those mecha from death.

And that had been a stroke of luck.

Sixteen cogs. Fresh? Undo-able. Even if the mine grew unstable again, mecha didn’t drop like flies down there, they were thick, industrial frames that toiled away for centuries without running a fatal injury.

“It’s impossible.”

Because it was. Absolutely. Tarn was mad. And obviously an addict, but Pharma couldn’t care less for his nightmare’s health.

 

“Impossible?” Tarn said, terribly polite. He took on the expression of someone vaguely interested, but overall unconcerned. “Do you mean to say you cannot fulfill your end of the bargain, Pharma?”

Inside, he was gleeful. He knew exactly what he was doing, driving up the quota to be so high. T-cogs were hardly mass produced here, after all. Pharma would soon have no choice but to…  _ renegotiate _ .

“I'm waiting for your answer, Pharma.”

 

“I...there’s no plausible way I could collect that many cogs with the current number of mecha working on Messatine in so short a time-span.” Pharma didn’t like where this was going. An entire year, he’d gotten away with his filthy deed, making a deal with a Decepticon and forsaking any ideas about informing HC. He would be branded a traitor, or worse, arrested. And Delphi would be destroyed anyway.

Tarn had to understand the pure logic, he wasn’t a dumb mech after all.

“It’s just not possible. I’m already stretched thin with ten as it is.”

 

“Then you'll have to find  _ another _ way, won't you?” Careful, so Pharma didn't get suspicious. Oh, it would take some subtlety to get this to go the way he wanted it to go. Tarn leaned against the wall.

“I'd say this calls for renegotiation of our  _ deal.  _ Wouldn't you agree?” He watched Pharma, waiting to see if he would catch on. Someone that pretty didn't go through life without at least a  _ few  _ offers.

 

It didn’t occur to Pharma that Tarn found him  _ attractive _ . He certainly had never made any such hints. Decepticons and Autobots had a deep hatred of one another, and surely Tarn was no exception to the rule. So his mind raced, wondering what Tarn could be wanting. Other organs? Something more ostentatious than a t-cog? Or something to humiliate Pharma, like having him grovel on the ground, kissing Tarn’s pedes. He wouldn’t be all that surprised. Tarn was one of those dominating types.

“You’re the one making the negotiation. What do I have left to offer you? You’re already forcing me to spend valuable resources on your...leisure.”

 

Tarn didn't answer immediately. He took his time, moving away from the wall to prowl around Pharma in a slow, ever tightening circle. He let the silence stretch just to the point of  _ discomfort _ before breaking it.

“ _ What _ can you offer me?” he moved behind Pharma, placing light hands on his wings. He rarely ever touched them -- only when making a passive threat to Pharma’s physical wellbeing or when he felt particularly tactile. “My  _ position _ leaves me very little time for… other pursuits.”

He caressed Pharma's wings lightly before his hands glided down to his waist. “It need not be  _ complicated _ , Pharma.”

 

Pharma’s external reaction was absolute silence and perfect stillness. Inside, an explosion. Of disgust, of outrage, the absolute bafflement of Tarn’s audacity. He wanted Pharma to use his _ frame _ to barter for Delphi’s safety? The cloying touch was enough of a confirmation to have Pharma shriek inside of his processor.

Was there no _ boundaries  _ to the filth of a Decepticon mind?

Utter disgust settled on his faceplate.

“You want to defile my body? Have you no concept of decency at all?!”

Of course he didn’t. He was a damn ‘con. 

A small part of Pharma affirmed him though that clearly, he was unmatchable in beauty, because even this lout couldn’t resist desiring him. Pharma strangled that voice into nothingness.

 

“Be glad I gave you a choice,” Tarn said, unruffled by Pharma’s indignation. “You still owe me, do you not? If you actually managed to just fulfill your quota, we wouldn't be here.”

He sounded smug. He  _ was  _ smug. “Remember, Pharma. The life of everyone on  _ Delphi  _ depends on you. Will you fail them so readily?”

He didn't stop touching Pharma. It wasn't as if he could do anything to stop Tarn anyway. Still touching his frame, the lithe waist that'd teased him so much before. Soon enough, he’d be doing  _ much  _ more.

“Well?”

 

“I...” He couldn’t agree to this. It was utterly repulsive to even think of. As if he would interface with this brute, this savage, uncultured beast. He was a forged medic, for crying out loud!  He had hand-picked his suitors back on Cybertron, allowing them to court him for months before they so much as got a glimpse of his array!

And now he was supposed to  _ whore  _ himself out for a quota? An impossible quota that Tarn had no business hiking up?

No choice. He didn’t have any room to argue. If he didn’t...death. Destruction. 

“What...do you want of me?” the disgust in his voice went completely unchecked, but at least he managed to filter the curses out. Maybe he could just offline his optics, let Tarn fondle him and then be allowed to take his leave. If he was lucky, Tarn would content himself by simple touch.

 

“First, a better tone.” Tarn tapped Pharma's mouth admonishingly. “Such hostility is so  _ gauche _ of you.”

Now… what did he want? There were so many options to pick from. His valve?

Tempting.

Tarn, however, had his optics set on a more  _ complete  _ victory. Letting Pharma rationalize it all away would be no fun. He continued to stroke his waist, field contemplative. An idea struck and Tarn  _ grinned. _

“Actually,” he said, silky, “since you were so eager to demonstrate how versatile your glossa is, you can resume such demonstration  _ elsewhere _ .”

 

The humiliation was only rivalled by his anger. Pharma made a very undignified noise, trying to subtly slide out of Tarn’s grasp, which proved impossible. Just what was he implying? That Pharma take care of his ghastly, massive frame with his mouth? That was marginally worse than having something unwanted and thick torture his valve.

“Out here. In the snow. Who is lacking in social graces here, Decepticon?”

 

Tarn's tone was growing increasingly testy. “Perhaps my  _ ship _ , then?” he said, sarcasm bleeding in, “or  _ Delphi.  _ Would those suit your tastes more?”

If Tarn had alternate options,  _ Oracle's  _ empty husk wouldn’t be his venue of choice. “I grow impatient. On your knees,  _ Pharma.” _

 

The medic yelped as his spark’s tremor wrenched him down into obedience. Tarn’s voice was such a potent, terrible weapon. Perfect for the nightmare that his frame and his mask represented.

This was beyond humiliating. Pharma couldn’t believe that there was nothing he could do to fight or fly, preferably the latter. He didn’t deserve this fate, he’d never done anything wrong in his entire life. He deserved riches and fame and respect. Not to be on his aching knees, staring at massive pedes and about to perform something a shareware mech might get credits for.

“This is barbaric.”

The fluid gathered, pooled in his optics, and he tried to shut down the vents before it could escape. Tarn was not going to have the satisfaction of a sobbing, broken medic. Pharma turned his face away from Tarn’s thick array plating.

 

Putting Pharma on his knees was just as satisfying as the first time. Tarn smirked under the mask. Pharma could whine all he wanted, but he would still do it. His pride didn't overrule his survival instinct.

With a soft  _ click,  _ his panel snapped to the side. His spike pressurized, the tip bobbing right before Pharma. In a moment of cruel glee, Tarn moved closer so that it rested on Pharma's bottom lip. Bracing himself against the wall, Tarn waited. Prompting Pharma would get him moving, but Tarn wanted the mech to start of his own volition.

 

Disgusting. Pharma wanted to cut right into the mesh and remove the offending thing lingering in his face.

It was large, of course, in proportion with the rest of Tarn’s frame. Ridged too, as per what Pharma assumed to be the norm among warframes. Even their spikes were brutish. The tip rested on his lips. If he spoke, it would practically be in his mouth, which is exactly where Pharma did not want this thing to be.

He braced his hands against Tarn’s thighs, but he knew there was no escape. It was perform or suffer the consequences.  Pharma moved his lips. The spike was unbearably hot and tasted like hydraulics. Shutting down his olfactory sensors wasn’t an option, but Pharma would prefer it at this moment.

He flicked his glossa out for a second, regretting the moment it touched the very tip of that spike.

“No..please,” he turned his face, the spike slipping along his face until it bumped his helm.

 

“Giving up so soon?” Tarn was enjoying this. It would be nice to have Pharma's mouth, but his discomfort was equally entertaining to witness. “Think of  _ Delphi _ and our deal. Is your will so weak?”

Internally, he chuckled. Pharma's face so near his spike was a rather good view as well.

Reaching down, he grabbed the back his head. “Perhaps a little  _ assistance?” _

He wouldn't even mind if Pharma didn't service him right now. His suffering was nearly as gratifying and waiting for defeat was much, much more satisfying than forcing it.

 

Tarn’s grasp wasn’t kind, or encouraging. Pharma didn’t bother trying to restrain the fluid now, feeling it all the more on his derma in the cold, unforgiving air of Messatine’s outdoors.

His spark. Again, that dreadful tone in Tarn’s voice. Pharma turned his head back slowly, resistance in the movement as if he contemplated preferring a punishment. Anything instead of...

He opened his mouth around the tip, slowly inching the spike’s tip past them. He wanted to choke, or bite, or just disappear. Anything but this.

 

_ There  _ we go. Tarn hummed approvingly add he felt Pharma finally move. It was still slow, but getting there. Patting his helm, Tarn turned his gaze upwards.

“I expect an overload,” he said, just to drive the salt in deeper, “and for you to swallow.”

After all, he was already getting this much. Why not drive for more? Tarn pushed Pharma down, trying to get him to take in a little more.

 

The tip was already too much. Pharma didn’t want to expand his mouth any further, didn’t want to slide more of this thick, disgusting spike into him. And yet he watched it disappear, feed into his mouth, his glossa almost flattened when the bulk of Tarn’s spike began to lodge itself in. Pharma paused, swallowing out of reflex around the damn thing. It was so warm...it was heating up his frame, just resting in his mouth. Pharma sucked weakly at it, giving the entire situation absolutely zero enthusiasm. Tears ran down his face. What had he done? Everything he decided was for the good of Delphi, for the sustained ignorance of his colleagues, his subordinates. They were safe, and Pharma was  _ filthy. _

 

“There’s no need for such theatrics,” Tarn purred, rubbing his thumb along the back of Pharma’s helm, “After all, haven’t I been good to you? I’ve spared your clinic. I never hurt you permanently. I even gave you a choice for a different form of payment, after you proved incapable of the first. Consider yourself to be  _ generously  _ indulged.”

Low laughter followed his words. Pharma’s pride was so  _ easily  _ banished. Where was the haughty little jet sneering at his ‘barbarism’?

Too bad Pharma was too distraught to actually suck. Tarn gave him a few moments to adjust to his spike, before impatience made him grasp his helm tighter and thrust _ in _ . Pharma’s mouth was small and warm, his spike thick enough to strain his jaw, but that just  _ heightened _ the feeling. He pulled Pharma back, savoring the way his lips slipped around his ridges, before pushing him back down.

Tarn set a steady rhythm -- not so hard it risked damage, but  _ only _ just. The tip of his spike bumped the back of Pharma’s intake and transfluid began gush, welling up in droplets around the corners of Pharma’s mouth. He wasn’t going to overload yet, but Tarn halted and  _ pushed _ Pharma’s helm until all of his spike was in Pharma’s mouth and his nose was touching Tarn’s plating.

“Swallow,” he commanded.

 

There was nothing Pharma could do to resist. Tarn was harsh and unforgiving and already the medic could taste transfluid. His mouth was so full, his jaw ached like never before and all he could do is glare hatefully up at the brute who played so poorly at having a sense of culture. He did not. Tarn was a savage, like every decepticon.

His nose pressed to Tarn's plating. It too was unbearably hot, just like the thick spike pressing to the back of his intake. With momentous disgust, Pharma obeyed, swallowing, and then sucking with angry impatience to get this over with. Tarn's transfluid was thick, warm and bitter.

 

With the anger in Pharma’s field came the renewed attempts at finishing him off. Tarn sighed as the medic worked, soft, approving rumbles escaping him as Pharma’s through worked around him to swallow. Obedience was so gratifying, especially when it went  _ unquestioned _ .

His overload wasn’t the most overwhelming one he had, but it was one colored with smug triumph. Tarn gripped Pharma in place, keeping him still, as transfluid flooded his mouth then pulled him away to get the last drops on his face. Fluid landed on his brow, his cheek, even his chin as Tarn sighed again, pleased with himself.

“An acceptable performance,” he said, though he really wouldn’t mind going for another try, “You’re  _ much _ more tolerable when your mouth is otherwise occupied.” The transfluid mingled with the tears still staining Pharma’s face.

 

Pharma didn’t want to give Tarn the satisfaction of seeing him cough and spit out the last remnants, so he swallowed them along with his pride.

It wasn’t a ‘performance’. Not even the fraction of one. Pharma had given it no effort, and his lacklustre sucking couldn’t be compared to the kind of finesse he applied when he wanted to please an interfacing partner.

“Are we done?” he whispered, still on his knees, servos on the ground and helm turned away from Tarn. He could feel warmth on his faceplate still. He needed to wash himself for at least an hour.

 

“For now, yes,” Tarn confirmed. He stepped away, relaxed now that his overload was sending good vibes throughout his frame. “The quota stays the same, Pharma. Make sure you bring them  _ all _ or you’ll to pay back the shortage in the same manner as this.”

He wondered if Pharma would hitch up and bring a full package. If he did, it would be time to raise the quota yet again. It would have to be steep, since watching Pharma twist himself into knots trying to wriggle out of his trap was really  _ so  _ amusing.

“You may go,” Tarn waved him off, as if he were a mere shareware ‘bot that was now a nuisance.

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback continues!

Why was he even bothering to deliver? Pharma knew there’d be a price to pay. A steep one, if the last meeting was any indication. Fifteen cogs, three of which were only questionably functional. He’d cobbled together one out of a broken core, but Tarn wouldn’t see that until he put it into his horrid frame, by which point Pharma would be far away from him. Hopefully. HC still hadn’t sent any reinforcements and at this point, Pharma doubted they ever would.

Oracle was becoming the silent witness to his horror. He landed once more, leaving the crate in its usual spot. Fifteen was close enough to quota. Tarn could shove his spike down Pharma’s throat again if he needed to, but Pharma would offline his optics and think himself away if he did.

 

Tarn made a habit of coming just a little earlier than Pharma -- thanks to a few sensors he’d planted nearby, he’d always have advance warning when the jet came out for his deliveries. Out of silent agreement, Pharma didn’t try to leave before Tarn verified his packages. He melted out of the shadows, biolights glimmering in the cold light of day, and inclined his helm to Pharma in faux politeness.

“How many are in the box?” Without waiting for an answer, he bent down to pick it up. “You remember what happens if you fail to provide the full quota.”

Tarn peered inside. “Fifteen? I remember telling you to bring  _ sixteen _ .”

 

“I told you it was impossible. Procuring this many was already a small miracle.” Pharma bristled. Of course Tarn couldn’t appreciate what troubles the medic went through just to provide him with his addiction’s needs. Tarn was a savage who relished in making Pharma’s life a living nightmare.

So, he’d fallen short of the quota. Perhaps he’d have to endure Tarn’s spike on his face yet again. 

“If you need to watch your transfluid on my face to get over it, then have it over with.”

It would be disgusting, but it wouldn’t hurt, and it could simply be washed off. Pharma had a long time to contemplate what happened last time and all things considered, Tarn could have done way worse.

 

“Fifteen. But almost has never won any prizes, has it?” Tarn set the box down, and patiently began to pull out the T-cogs, one by one. He plucked one out and examined it, before deeming it acceptable. “One… two… three…”

On and on he went, until eleven T-cogs lay on a burnt out desk, nestled in snow. He pulled one out. “This is cracked,” he said critically, claws creeping into the flaws that would render this a failure upon even the first transformation. With a  _ snap _ , he crushed it. “Useless.”

He took out another. Examined it. “A dud,” he declared and that too became splinters.

Another. Examine. “It’s not compatible with my frame.”  _ Snap _ .

The last one he took out with a sneer. “You must think me blind  _ and  _ a fool if you think this could trick me.” A flick of his wrist, he found the places Pharma tried to match up the different parts of other T-cogs together. It drifted into the snow, smashed.

“Eleven T-cogs, now. My, my, Pharma, you’ve  _ never _ been this low in quite a while. One overload in your mouth is hardly going to cover the fact that you’re short and that you tried to  _ hide _ it.”

 

Pharma’s wings slicked back with every failed examination. Tarn knew more of t-cogs than the medic had given him credit for. Shifting away from him was unwise, but Pharma had a couple of paces to work with before Tarn could reach him. Oracle was a horrible ruin, it hampered his flight path no matter from which angle he started, which meant Tarn could always grab him, or shoot him just as easily. Those fusion cannons weren’t just for a first impression, after all.

“How am I supposed to meet your quota if the supply ships never make it to the planet?”

He had a feeling Tarn had hand in that, too. Everything that went wrong at Delphi was Tarn’s fault.

 

“Your inadequacies are no fault of mine,” Tarn chided. He took one, threatening step forward, cutting the distance between them by half. “What concerns me here is that you were short of your quota, Pharma. You know the price for that.”

Faster than Pharma could react, Tarn struck. His hand closed around Pharma’s neck, dragging him up and closer. “It  _ does  _ make me wonder, Pharma. Why are you short? Surely, there are more than enough miners on Messatine to fulfill my quota for the next  _ decade _ . Yet, here we are again. It makes me  _ wonder _ .”

Tarn slammed Pharma down next to the cogs. “Functional, acceptable T-cogs are what I will take,” he said, pleasant, “not these  _ shams  _ you try to pass on.  _ Understand _ ?”

 

Pharma yelped when Tarn grabbed him. Struggling was hardly effective, but he couldn’t suppress the mad scrabbling to try and free himself. Tarn was so strong...warframes were horrible when they were out of control, off of their necessary leash. No wonder that so many of his former acquaintances had discussed killswitches and inhibitors. If he could go back in time, he’d offer to develop and install them himself.

When his face met the ground in a most unkind position, Pharma groaned with pain. He wasn’t made to withstand forceful encounters. His derma scraped over the floor, his jaw and nose ached.

“I...” he gasped through the spark spasm and the sharp pain in his frame, “I...understand.”

 

“Good.” Tarn looked Pharma over. He was sprawled in the snow, dignity lost, in the shattered remnants of his false cogs. Tarn knelt down to his level, tracing his helm. Pharma’s mouth was tempting, but Tarn had his optics set on a bigger prize.

He swept his hands down Pharma’s frame, testing and squeezing every bit he could reach before flipping him over and propping his hips up. Ah, yes. All the annoying yappy bits gone, replaced by something far more interesting.

Tarn squeezed Pharma’s aft. Leaning over, so that his hips neatly aligned with Pharma’s, he braced himself with both hands planted on the ground. “Open up,” Tarn ordered, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could reach down between Pharma’s legs and tap his panel.

 

Oh Primus. Pharma had not bargained for this. He knew Tarn clearly had good taste and a ravenous desire to interface with him, but that he would take such drastic action so quickly? Wasn’t there some kind of progression between a spike in his mouth and one about to be pressed against his array?

Pharma never felt his panel clenched shut so tightly in his life. Sharing himself with Tarn was worse than a nightmare. He’d...always been a very picky lover. Only those who proved themselves interested after months of rejection stood a chance of even seeing Pharma’s array. Then, they had to work even harder to please him for a taste. 

Delphi had not been kind to his interfacing life and choices, so Pharma put any thought of it out of his mind. He didn’t need to interface to function, and he certainly wouldn’t lower his standards and expectations.

“No, please, not...don’t do this.”

He hated grovelling, begging, humiliating himself, but there was no choice here. His frame and field shook with agitation, and not a subtle hint of fear.

 

In a different situation, Tarn might’ve set up the whole seduction differently. Wait more. Draw Pharma to  _ him _ , rather than approach him. But it’d been a long time, Pharma would probably take centuries to even consider opening up for Tarn, and frankly? He was too attractive to wait for.

“ _ Shhh _ ,” he murmured, his voice taking on a different, non-lethal pitch. It was low, but it stroked Pharma’s spark differently. Matched it, pulse for pulse, and began to tug it into arousal. “ _ I won’t hurt you. Just open up. I never hurt you when you’re obedient, Pharma _ .”

He kept his hand between his legs, idly tracing the metal. Pharma was shaking under him, he could tell, but hopefully that all would change.

 

He could feel Tarn turn his spark towards unbearable arousal, and Pharma had never felt more disgusting and helpless in his entire life, because it was working. The fear still clung to him, but the obnoxious little notion that Tarn’s thick spike could bring him pleasure had returned and wouldn’t leave. Much the opposite, it seemed stronger than ever, latching onto his mind and erasing Pharma’s otherwise rational thoughts.

He didn’t want to get hurt. And it was true, mostly, Tarn didn’t hurt him if he played along. But this...this wasn’t a game. This was Pharma’s frame and this time it would really be defiled by this filthy brute.

He couldn’t disobey. The voice, his position, even the terms of their ‘deal’. Nothing was in his favour and Pharma had to grit his dentae and do as he was told, or risk perishing right here in the snow. Damned be his naked fear of death.

The panel slid away slowly and Pharma’s gasp was audible. Cold air on his array was anything but pleasant. His engine stuttered, turned over, began to pump heat throughout his frame.  There was not a drop of transfluid in sight.

 

His fingers skipped back as he felt the panel move back. Tarn purred in approval as Pharma’s silent acquiescence came through loud and clear. He still hummed, teasing Pharma’s spark along, and let his hand wander near. He was chilled, that much was clear, but Tarn didn’t let that deter him. He pushed in a finger, testing the fit, before withdrawing.

Too small and dry, like this. Patience, then.

He moved up to Pharma’s anterior node instead. Carefully, steadily, he rubbed it. It took only a moment before Tarn gave into the pings from his array, and he let his spike out to nestle against Pharma’s valve comfortably. Not in, not yet, but promising to.

 

For a moment, Pharma feared that Tarn would ignore the fact that Pharma’s valve was absolutely not ready to be penetrated and do so anyway, with no regards to the array of his victim. Pharma had been pretty sure that was exactly what the mech was going for.

But he didn’t. He tested, with just a finger, but didn’t linger. Instead, he applied gentle pressure to Pharma’s anterior node, which had the medic twitch. When his spike lingered against Pharma’s valve without disturbing it further, a strange sort of feeling ballooned in Pharma’s chest and helm. Curiosity? Perhaps, but only carefully so. Why wasn’t Tarn doing as he pleased? Was he trying to get Pharma to...enjoy this?

What a strange, strange mech.

The constant stimulation to his node had Pharma squirm, but every squirm shifted Tarn’s spike against his valve. Which was becoming a traitor all on its own, registering the proximity of the spike, so patient and eager. His protocols were pinging and Pharma didn’t try to shut them down. He hadn’t interfaced in so long…

“T...Tarn...” he gasped out against the cold ground, feeling his node spasm with delight at the continued touch. Traitorous frame. Pharma’s pride would not recover from these wounds, he was quite sure of that.

When his valve actually produced lubricant, he leaned back against the spike, testing the girth of it. Horrified by the sudden notion that he’d like that thick thing  _ inside  _ of him, Pharma pulled away again.

 

“ _ Don’t worry _ ,” Tarn reassured him as he touched Pharma a good deal more firmly. He still felt the brief flushes of heat, the flex of valve lining on his spike. It bode good things for his immediate future. Even when he felt the first few drops of lubricant edge out into the cold air and to his palm, Tarn didn’t rush it. He shifted Pharma’s anterior node to his thumb while the rest delved in a little deeper.

His ring and index finger spread Pharma’s valve, exposing the inner circuitry a little. His middle finger dipped in, spreading the lubricant around the rim of his valve and on the outer mesh. Pharma was pleasantly soft here, and warm, despite the cool temperatures around them.

He probably could penetrate Pharma now. Tarn debated it, before deciding against it. It would be too tight still, and a few drops barely meant anything. Satisfied with the slickened state of the outside of Pharma’s valve, he slipped in one finger.

Oof. He was  _ tight _ . Moreso than Tarn had anticipated. He pressed his finger around, encouraging Pharma to relax and let him slip in the second. That one went in only after a fair amount of wiggling and easing, and Tarn scissored them, opening Pharma up in increments.

 

Pharma had been trying to will himself not to panic about the fact that his frame was getting more and more interested in this activity around and inside of his valve. Had it been so long? Yes...yes it had. Pharma was too picky. And this was his reward for being selective with his lovers? Being taken by a Decepticon brute outside in the elements as punishment. And his valve had the audacity to ping him positive signals from being touched and spread.

Outrage mingled with reluctant desire. Perhaps this could be like the unwanted spike in his mouth. Over quickly and relatively painlessly, if Pharma showed minimal participation.

Oh...oh those were thick fingers. He felt filled already, calipers awakening to spiral open sluggishly, even though Pharma tried to keep them tightly wound together.

But to no avail. A moan slipped from his lips when Tarn’s fingers began to open him up. His mesh welcomed the invasion. Too long. How many millions of years had it been? Two?

 

There was the first sign of Pharma’s admission to his victory. Tarn smirked as a third finger joined the rest, urging Pharma’s calipers to open up faster. He could feel them spiralling around him, occasionally twitching down when he brushed against a heated node. Once he deemed Pharma ready, Tarn pulled wet fingers out and thrust them into Pharma’s mouth.

“Does that taste like  _ no _ to you?” he asked, smugness dripping off the words.

Wiping the last of the lubricant across Pharma’s mouth and lips, Tarn wrapped a hand around his waist and lined them up before pushing in. Even three fingers in and well-aroused, Pharma felt unbearably tight. Tarn had to pull out several times before thrusting anew, putting in a little more force to encourage Pharma open. Nodes were flattened under the ridges of his spike, calipers giving way to his girth. A trickle of lubricant went down Pharma’s thigh and onto the snow, staining it pink.

It didn’t feel like it hurt, but Tarn checked. He couldn’t detect any pain in Pharma’s spark, not yet.  _ Hah _ .

 

Pharma had sputtered when the fingers pushed into his mouth and the taste of his own lubricant spread on his glossa. Disgusting. How could he be aroused by this beast, this-

Shock did a lot to numb pain, and in Pharma’s case, his protocols compensated with arousal for what his mind was unwilling to acknowledge as a pleasurable experience. Tarn was so big, and he kept pushing, until he was in so far that Pharm could feel the plating grind against his aft. Pharma gasped, fists clenching uselessly, vents uneven and spark whirling with the duality of disgust and satisfaction. His mind definitely didn’t agree with the _ yes, good, fill me _ notion of his valve.

The bastard was doing whatever he wanted with Pharma. And it felt unbearably  _ good. _

Pharma teetered on the edge of giving in. He wanted so badly to scream and shoot Tarn until he was a nightmare no longer, and the other half wanted to thrust his hips back and somehow get that monstrous spike crushing his calipers moving.

“Ah!”

It hurt. The first shock gone, it definitely hurt. Pharma hadn’t been fragged in two million years. 

 

Tarn slowed his shallow thrust, supporting Pharma as the pain made his spark waver. A soft hum to soothe it eased the agitated little shakes into smoothness again. Pain wasn’t enjoyable. Tarn moved slowly but surely, pulling out until only the tip of his spike was in Pharma before pushing in all the way. The cold air hardly matter anymore -- Tarn was producing enough heat to melt all the snow in their vicinity.

Water trickled under his knees as Tarn angled differently, and felt himself hit something. It was soft, not quite like a seal so…  _ ceiling node _ ?

Satisfied, he growled into Pharma’s audial as his thrusts grew sharper. Less testing and more demanding, their hips meeting with sharp cracks of metal. Their position forced Pharma to arch his back lest he fall on his face and Tarn growled as Pharma’s frame moved under him becomingly. The wait, the effort coming out here, the conversations… all of it worth it, if this could become a regular event. And the more Pharma liked it, the easier he would come to heel. Honey attracted more flies than vinegar.

 

At least if Tarn was rough with him, Pharma could have found the energy to hate him for it. If he would only ignore the pain he was causing in greed for his own overload, this would feel like a punishment.

But Pharma couldn’t control the desires of his frame, and the obnoxious voice in his head praised him highly for giving in. Moving with Tarn felt better than trying to hold still and the pure sensation of being spread so wide felt amazing. Pleasure, given to him by a monster. Pharma could feel guilty and filthy later on, he decided. 

His ceiling node. When Tarn struck it again, Pharma’s turbine whirred into life along with a moan tumbling from his lips with a soft, choked plea for more like that. Transfluid squelched around Tarn’s spike now, Pharma’s legs shaking for an entirely different reason.

 

Tarn’s fingers returned to his node and he angled to follow up on the ceiling node, as Pharma’s reservations fell away so he could wantonly moan for more, for harder, for Tarn to hit that spot,  _ please _ . These all went to his recorder, because some things were just too valuable to waste.

“Do you want more?” he asked, voice audible to his recorder. “Do you want  _ me _ ?”

How did one deny the truth, once it spilled out of one’s private thoughts and into solid evidence? Tarn’s engine went from a dull roar to a constant snarl as he gripped Pharma had enough to leave dents along his waist. There already was a few littered around his hips and thighs -- evidence of this, of Pharma’s weakness.

“Do you want to overload, Pharma?” He thrust at his ceiling node harder for emphasis, relishing the choked noises that came from Pharma unbeckoned. Tarn had even stopped his talent. Now, it was all just Pharma himself. All of his sounds -- the vents, his turbine, even the undertone of wetness between them -- was caught and recorded.

 

_ Say no. Don’t give him the pleasure. _

Pharma groaned, unwilling to humiliate himself further. Already his frame was eagerly bouncing on Tarn’s spike, his valve devouring what it was offered, clenching Tarn as if he was a precious gift, not an unbidden invader. His hips were dented, his thighs splattered with fluids that he didn’t want to know the origin of. Pharma looked like wanton shareware and the worst part was that he didn’t really care.

Overload. Yes. Yes he wanted that. Tarn or any other brute, it didn’t matter. Pharma wanted that brief sensation which would allow him to forget everything. The pain. The humiliation. 

“I want...I want you,”  _ despicable _ , how weak he was in Tarn’s grasp, “I want to overload, please, please let me overload!” 

 

It was perfect how it all just fit into place. Tarn held Pharma down as his self-control cracked, and a portion of his slavering appetite for a good overload -- or four -- peeked through. He no longer held back, slamming into Pharma with a hard beat that didn’t let up no matter how much the jet wailed under him. His claws dug into the metal of the floor, clawing in  _ deep _ .

This would be the first of many other encounters like this. Tarn had gotten the taste now, not the bare dribble the first time had been, and he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. His libido had been woken out of a long dormancy to something that more than pleased him.

Tarn was too preoccupied with his impending overload to plan ahead, but the ideas were germinating slowly -- ways for increased meetings, a different setting, how else he could have Pharma coming to him. A good overload would only be the beginning.

 

Pharma had no room for thought. There was a massive spike, being rammed into him at an increasingly impossible pace. If Tarn hadn’t been holding him, Pharma would have crumpled by now. His mind was hazed, his frame suddenly aflame with sensation and impending overload. It siphoned one from the hard thrusts, even if they were so much rougher than anything Pharma had previously experienced. It wasn’t a scream of pleasure, per se, but the noise that escaped his mouth was ragged and loud nonetheless.

 

Tarn buried himself in Pharma with one final thrust before he overloaded. Build-up was vicious -- even after the last time, his transfluid still flowed thick and heavy. It overflowed Pharma’s valve, adding to the unspeakable stains already accruing across his thighs.

Panting, Tarn rolled them over. Pharma was tucked into his side, still filled with his spike. Tarn rested his arm across his waist carelessly, lazily watching the steam rise around them.

 

There was no such thing as quick recovery for Pharma in this situation. He was completely overheated and his systems still surged  with the overload and the shock of the unexpected interface session.

His vents rattled, his thighs shook and his calipers flickered against the thick mass pressing them deep into the mesh. It hurt. Not unbearably so, but it definitely hurt. What was Tarn doing? Didn’t he just overload? Wasn’t this finished now?

A small sigh escaped Pharma. He was going to look a mess when he returned to Delphi. If he returned to Delphi. Tears were nothing new on his face, and he ignored them by now. 

 

Technically, they were finished.  _ Technically _ . 

Tarn wasn’t feeling like doing technically right now. He held Pharma closer, enjoying the comfort of having something warm wrapped around his spike. He got to do this rarely -- surely that meant he was allowed to indulge himself when the moment arose?

Pharma probably was coming to by now. Understanding the reality of what they’d done, what he’d said. What this meant for their future. He might even be crying again, though Tarn couldn’t see from this angle. Whatever. Tarn settled in more comfortably, plating moving around to let him lie down properly. The ground was hard and cold, but it might as well be the galaxy’s most comfortable berth for how Tarn languished.

There was still time. Pharma was still here.

Another round, then?

Below, his spike twitched with interest and a vote in favor of that particular idea. It wasn’t as if Tarn needed to go somewhere urgently. As long as comm channel contact was up, his unit wouldn’t question a night or two of his disappearance. Whether Pharma had such a time window was more up to debate.

Reaching down, sluggish fingers drifted between his spike and Pharma’s valve. He touched where they were joined and stroked the stretch of Pharma’s lining, where it had most obviously opened up, with lax pride. 

 

Not done then. The continued presence of Tarn’s spike confirmed his worst suspicion. The tankformer intended for the two of them to spend longer out here, Pharma’s payment not yet complete. He wished he was filled with needles or toxins, so Tarn’s every touch would be a stroke closer to demise. A deep, deep loathing settled into his spark. How dare this brute take Pharma’s dignity and trample it? How dare he claim Pharma like a whore?

He vented frustration in the form of releasing heated air and shifting his wings, the seams rippling with the urge to transform and flee. His turbine blew a gust of cold air at Tarn’s faceplate.

 

_ Active already _ . Tarn retaliated with a pinch of his anterior node. He could almost  _ feel  _ Pharma’s gorge rising the more he came to, so that was his cue to pull out, roll Pharma onto his back, and push his legs up. Folding Pharma in half, so that his legs now rested on Tarn’s treads, Tarn grinned down at him -- though Pharma could not see it.

“To think I could barely fit a finger in at first,” Tarn said, patting Pharma’s valve proprietarily, “and now I can see inside it without effort. You open up awfully fast for someone you  _ hate _ , don’t you?”

His spike rubbed against Pharma’s valve, smearing fluid more. “Want to see what kind of begging you’ll do  _ this  _ time?” 

 

“I despise you,” Pharma snapped, frame kind of lax and no longer protesting any of Tarn’s movements. He didn’t belong to this monster who claimed him so. He was doing this to stave off something worse. Tarn was an infection, and Pharma the only line of defense. It wasn’t fair, but it was his reality.

_ Oh but that spike. _

Pharma moaned, involuntarily clenching around the spike, calipers twitching eagerly and mesh still super-heated, hopeful for a continuation of the previous activities.

“You _ talked  _ me into this.”

 

“And oh, how  _ easily _ persuaded you were.” Tarn bent down, back to Pharma’s willing frame.

 

-x-

 

It took until sundown and three more ‘faces before Tarn’s hunger was sated. They were both filthy by then -- covered in water, their fluids, and steaming with heat -- and previous reluctance to touch faded away. Tarn held Pharma, in case he tried to run, and pounded several more dents into him before he finally, tiredly, released the jet.

Paint was littered across his frame. Blue… red… white… all of it. Tarn had made sure to overload  _ on  _ Pharma at least a few times, so the stains were… everywhere of note, really. His face. Cockpit. Wings. Tarn lounged back, watching Pharma.

“Same quota. Same amount of time later. Same consequences, if you are short.”

 

Exhaustion had fear take a backseat, for now. Pharma had never felt this thoroughly fragged in...all of his lifetime, actually. He couldn’t remember ever interfacing so violently, so often and so vigorously. When Tarn’s spike finally left him, his valve felt empty and numb.

He didn’t crawl, but he did have to use all four limbs to try and get up. He was a mess. Purple streaks, dents, scratches...he looked like he’d come out of combat with a sparkeater.

“But...Tarn...”

No. Don’t argue. He will not listen.

“I understand.”

His transformation was slow, pained, utterly pathetic compared to his usual elegance. He just wanted to rest, and wash himself of the copious transfluid stains.

Wasn’t it fun to witness the last shreds of dignity painfully limp away? Tarn silently watched Pharma gather himself up slowly, limbs shaking, still dripping, and fly away on wobbly wings.

He’d be back.

Slowly, Tarn got up. All of him felt nicely loosened, protocols that haven’t been used in a long while settling back as Tarn stretched leisurely. He was in a good mood. A few transformations completed his contentment. Slowly, he made the trek back to his ship.

No questions were asked. His unit were all in their individual rooms and Tarn slipped into the washracks easily. Pharma had left no dents on him, but the paint streaks were another issue. It took Tarn an hour to scrub it all off, refuel, before slumping down on his berth.

The deadline was going to be  _ spectacular _ .

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the present

**Back to the present...**

 

Tarn's spike and Pharma had a rich history together. He remembered vividly how repulsed he'd been by it once. How it had felt and looked like a severe punishment, when he knew nothing of what heights of pleasure it could bring him. Now, it was an old friend, a dear addiction. He kissed the tip, he kissed the pierced mesh, curling his glossa around the ring. 

Tarn's frame had once been monstrous. Now it was his playground. If only he could have realized it back then, his nights and days would not have been steeped in shame and self-loathing. If only he could have learned to enjoy it earlier, his life would have been free, so much earlier than now.

Constrained, ashamed, under pressure. He had been a tightly wound mess, a disaster waiting to happen. Balancing the act of keeping up appearances before his staff, whilst battling his traitorous desire for Tarn to use him, to defile him, to take his forged, flawless frame and demolish it in his acts of pleasure. Even Tarn, scourge of the Decepticons, couldn't resist Pharma. Even if he hated the medic, he still wanted him.

Back then, it had repulsed Pharma, to ease himself into a new morality. To take patients who needn't have died and ease them on. But more pressingly, the moments he'd let them live, deciding that he wanted to be punished. 

And the dreams.

He'd dreamed of it.

Pharma would never forget how he would touch himself, as roughly as he dared, trying to simulate Tarn's claws when the tankformer remained silent for two deadlines. Those had been the first, when Pharma met the climbing quota. Pharma begun to always be just one or two cogs short. Just enough so Tarn wouldn't be livid, but still forced to make Pharma pay up the difference with his body.

Oh, he'd been such an eager fool, falling in too deeply. He'd given Tarn every ounce of himself, his dignity and thought, before he ever realized it.

When he did, he created an epidemic to wipe out Delphi and Tarn, should he ever come looking again.

And here he was now. Nuzzling Tarn's spike, sucking eagerly and teasingly at the tip, playing with the thick band of chrome that decorated the dark length of ridges.

 

As it turned out, Pharma was far better with his mouth than his lackluster first performance belied. Tarn kept his hands at his sides -- Pharma already knew what his tastes were, by now -- and contented himself to observe the medic play with his spike. It felt good, though it would have been better if Pharma stopped  _ playing _ .

“Anytime now,” he said, impatience edging in. “I think I have been teased quite enough.” 

His valve panel slid away, baring something that almost never saw the light of day. How long had it been since his last valve use? Tarn usually didn’t have the patience required to deal with the intricacies of his valve -- his spike had always been more straight-forward, easier to control himself on. The touch of air made it cycle down, unused to it and sensitive. Three piercings, chrome and identical to the one on his spike, glimmered out. One through his anterior node, one on each side of his lining.

Using his valve with Pharma… it was strange, how far they came from the first hostile days in the shadow of  _ Oracle _ .

 

Tarn was still as impatient as ever. Pharma had a mind to show him just how virtuous patience could really be, especially when it concerned an array and a willing partner. But the sight of Tarn’s valve had him dismiss the idea, entirely fascinated with this new part of their game. Pharma swallowed up Tarn’s spike, sucking languidly to keep the mech from  _ complaining _ . But his clever blue servos no longer idled at the base of the spike, instead slipping down to find out just what kind of pleasures he could draw out of Tarn with this enticing new playground.

He traced the piercings, wondering who had been lucky enough to place them on Tarn in the first place. Greed and jealousy flushed through him at the thought. No. This was his. Whoever that mech was, their death, if it had not already occurred, would be a promise of the future. Pharma’s fingers found Tarn’s anterior node, pressing lightly only for a moment, before pinching it between the tips of his digits. Tarn’s valve was surprisingly sensitive. Unused, perhaps. Pharma had never seen it before. He continued his exploration, tracing the outer lining without ever applying any hard pressure. He didn’t know the parameters yet, what Tarn would find pleasant and what he didn’t.

The curiosity grew too much and he slipped his mouth free of Tarn’s spike, kissing it farewell as he bowed his helm. What would Tarn taste like, he wondered? 

His lips replaced his fingers, playing with the piercings, curling his glossa over the node that seemed to invite him so desperately, pleading to be used. 

“Oh, Tarn,” he hummed, almost chuckling at the eagerness of this new part of Tarn’s array, fingers inching into the valve as curious, lithe pilgrims. 

“I think you’ve been neglecting this part of yourself.”

 

Tarn was tense with anticipation -- he knew this part of himself only sparingly, and what little he  _ did  _ know didn’t paint a picture of self-control. The pinch at his node drew a snarl and a kick from him, smashing one of Nickel’s monitors into smithereens, as hypersensitive sensors kicked up into overdrive.

The light touches around it didn’t draw nearly so violent a reaction, but Tarn was still wound up, unable to relax as long as Pharma’s fingers ventured near his valve. The first hints of penetration made him draw in a long, hissed inhale. His hands clawed air.

“Neglect… implies ignorance,” Tarn bit out through gritted dentae, “this is… a sufficient…  _ understanding  _ of my frame.”

 

Pharma noted how very tense Tarn was becoming under his touches. It was curious that such a sensitive place would even belong to a warframe, but Pharma didn’t hold it against Tarn’s strength. If anything, this was a gift for Pharma, a place where Tarn could understand all the sensual agony he had inflicted on the medic over the past decades.

“Let me understand you then, Tarn,” he purred, fully enticed by his own actions now. He didn’t want to wait, or have Tarn grow even more stiff and uncomfortable. His lips closed around the anterior node, piercing and all, and he gave it a gentle suck. The heat pouring off of Tarn was signal enough that the tankformer promised a reaction.

 

Tarn arched his back, then half-rose from the berth violently. He stopped himself before he could grab Pharma and do  _ something _ , and raked a long series of lines down the side of the berth instead. Harsh gasps that aspired to be words escaped his vocalizer, and Tarn made several false starts before managing to spit out something comprehensive.

“Maybe… we should postpone this. I might…  _ damage  _ you.” Tarn’s reactions were too much, when they’d barely begun. Already, he’d inflicted damage on his surroundings that could have just as easily been on Pharma instead. 

This was exactly why he refrained from using his valve, how could he have been so foolish as to forget?

_You didn’t forget, you just wanted to_ _\--_

Tarn strangled that train of thought before it finished. He was already sitting up, scooting away from Pharma, “Stopping would be best,” he said, growing steadier as he drew Pharma away from his valve.

 

"Tarn..." Pharma surrendered the node for now, nothing but soft exhales touching Tarn's hyper-sensitive valve. This wasn't just a prize, this was a treasure. And Pharma was a greedy collector. 

"Please," Pharma tried again, leaning forward before Tarn could push him away entirely. He pressed a kiss to the node, before his lips drifted over the outer components, dappling them with soft affections, "my _ love _ ," oh, he loved putting emphasis on that term, "let me take care of you. I know what I'm doing."

And they would definitely not postpone this. Pharma had waited for too long for Tarn to offer him such a vulnerability. 

His nose bumped against the mesh, then his lips, and then his glossa. It wasn't difficult to push into Tarn, and so gentle a penetration shouldn't cause him any distress. There was so much for Pharma to explore.

 

It took a considerable amount of self control for Tarn not to turn Pharma’s face concave. Such damage would’ve been immediately fatal to his higher cognitive thinking. So, in a stroke of magnanimous reasoning, Tarn backhanded his abdomen.

Helm, possible danger to brain module. Chest, same danger to spark and its chamber. But abdomen? No life-threatening organs lay there, and the damage could be easily patched up.

It didn’t mean the damage wasn’t spectacular anyway. Tarn hit Pharma with an open hand -- force diffuse throughout plating, less directed internal damage, look, he was being  _ nice _ \-- and felt the thin plates splinter under the shock of the blow. Pharma’s abdominal armor versus Tarn’s armor on one hand --ding, ding, Tarn’s hand wins.

Plating gave way to tubes that bent and shifted out of the way, exposing circuitry that Tarn smashed like paper wafers. Tarn could tell -- not because he sensed it all, his reaction time or processing speed wasn’t  _ that _ high -- but because he’d done it to countless others who suffered the same way. Pharma, formerly grinning and  _ pushing _ , went from on the berth to across the medibay, hitting the wall, and slumping down like a doll thrown too hard.

Tarn put his hand down and closed his panels. A long vent --  _ irritation, resentment, you got what you deserved _ \-- and Tarn was off the berth.

_ ::Nickel, to the medibay. Priority two injury.:: _

In short order, Pharma replaced Tarn on the berth and Nickel was clucking as she checked him. “Prion, what did you do?”

“I hit him.”  _ Duh _ .

Nickel looked like she wanted to ask  _ why, you lumbering hunk of useless drift metal _ but clammed up when she saw the glint in Tarn’s optics. He wasn’t pleased with anyone right now and that kind of mood put him in a right bloody-minded temperament. Not  _ quite  _ ready to rip off someone’s head for talking about their pet, but  _ could be pushed  _ to it. For everyone on the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ , general agreement was that Tarn being anywhere near that was a Bad Thing For Everyone’s Health. Nickel, astute medical officer that she was, wisely shut up and got to work.

Deciding against rousing Pharma from unconsciousness, she went for what Tarn wanted to hear. “I can fix him.”

That was all Tarn wanted, apparently. He turned and left the medibay without another word. Nickel watched him go, before looking down at her patient. He almost looked surprised, and affronted by what surprised him.

“Idiot,” she muttered, before beginning her repairs.


	18. Chapter 18

The crew seemed none the wiser when Pharma made his full recovery. Nickel had fixed him well enough, though he would be repairing the cosmetic damage for quite some time. The little medic had found no replacement for his cracked cockpit, so Pharma left it in place. A sour reminder that he was playing with a force he had not mastered. 

He kept away from Tarn. It was difficult, given that this was his ship, but he managed. He wasn’t all that large and it didn’t seem like the commander had interest in seeking him out.

All the better for Pharma to nurse his wounded pride, and try to process what happened. Pushing Tarn too hard was no longer a good option to explore. Even in so sensual a setting, Pharma had to remember how volatile his temper could be. How unforgiving his anger.

He wished he could make use of being on the war world, but after the incident at the oil house, he was on ship arrest. For the sake of Deathsaurus’ continued lenience towards the DJD’s stay.

Which meant there was an awful lot of time for Pharma to think, and sulk. The shock had undone some things in his mind, chapters of emotions towards Tarn that he thought were firmly finished. But in his first recharge after his repairs, he’d woken up completely panicked, fear cutting off all rational understanding of where he was.

Fear permeated him in a new way. What if Tarn continued down his path? Every semblance of safety from his wrath had already been torn down now, what was to stop the commander from remembering that he didn’t  _ need  _ Pharma?

The only places Pharma dared to go were the quiet room and the medibay, only if neither contained Tarn. 

He still shared the space with Nickel, but he wasn’t making progress. Where snide remarks and the occasional projectile tool in response had been before, Pharma worked in absolute silence. Didn’t speak when he entered, didn’t glance over when he left.

 

In opposition to Pharma’s sudden withdrawal, Tarn continued his daily work without any issue. He met with Deathsaurus, hashed out their plans in the short and long term, made sure his unit wasn’t creating too much trouble, and brooded in his quarters the rest of the time. The time slot usually allotted to Pharma’s company was quickly erased from his schedule, as if it never existed.

Tarn went on like this, day in, day out. Pharma was less than a ghost, his presence was so muted. So when they somehow managed to run into each other in the medibay, Tarn stinking of the typical burnt out cog odor, he passed by him without a word.

“Nickel, I need a transplant.”

 

Pharma had frozen at his station the moment Tarn walked into the medibay, not relaxing even when the tankformer completely ignored him. His spark was whirling, a confused mess of longing and fear and it reminded him so harshly of Delphi he had to flare his vents. He looked down at his servos, busy over an artificial cradle and cog. He’d been trying to run various scenarios over replicas of Overlord’s cog, adjusting and changing it’s shape whilst trying to retain the resilience.

Now though, everything just blurred in front of his optics, a sharp phantom pain of his abdomen splitting open. 

He dropped his tools, servos gripping the edge of the table. Calm. He had to calm down. It didn’t matter that Tarn didn’t have reason or will to keep him. He would endure. Maybe.

It felt like personal insult, for Nickel to do  _ his  _ procedure. He was infinitely better at it, with so much practice. Pharma glanced at his fellow medic, silently asking her advice. Should he leave? Should he linger?

 

_ Oh, I see how it is. When you’re in paradise, I’m the ‘mechanic’. But when you’re in trouble, suddenly I’m your only friend _ . Nickel’s response was a look that could have melted steel before she went back to pretending Pharma was a decorative lamp. Her allegiance was with Tarn. If the medic fragged up, he better learn to  _ ask nicely  _ or fix his own problems.

“On the slab,” she said, plucking a fresh cog from storage. It rested in a holding cradle as she boosted herself up to get a good look at Tarn’s side. Wielding her saw and lights, Nickel got to work. The comfortable silence only extended between them. Over in  _ that  _ corner, it was a dead zone neither acknowledged.

 

He should have left. Now, the slab, Tarn and Nickel were in the way. The exit was something he couldn’t reach without walking by. 

It took him nearly all of the procedure to gather up the courage. He’d cleaned his station, put away his tools, washed his servos twice. Field plastered tightly to himself, as if it could serve as armor, he marched past the slab, not glancing at Nickel’s undoubtedly merely adequate work. His sensors tingled, the fear sending his spark near a frenzy.

He couldn’t stay here.

It was a revelation that came to him as he pressed the button to exit the medibay. He had to get away. Tarn was just biding his time. Tarn was done, finished with him. He couldn’t stay on this ship, with him and his unit.

 

Nickel peeled back plating to get at Tarn’s cradle, and her lip curled at the stench. “Agh,  _ damn _ , Tarn. This is, what… the third T-cog in week! Your cradle isn’t gonna be handling that kind of load and we’ll have to build you a new one if you cripple this one, like the last time. I can do transplants, I can even do basic cradle repair. But building? We’ll need a proper medic for that, and the last time was a mess.”

She picked through the mess, trying to locate all the loose cog shards. “This was a nasty burn-out,” she said, “it practically  _ exploded  _ in you. You might have shards running around elsewhere in your body, and that’ll require me opening you up all the way to get everything.”

“Later,” Tarn said, passively noting down Nickel’s comments.

“Tarn, you  _ know  _ there’s some things I can’t fix. Like, see, here?” she tapped the tar-like buildup on the cradle. “This bit should be scraped out. Unfortunately I can’t do that because that requires tools and expertise on cradle circuitry I don’t have. It’ll keep building up, until one day you’re looking at a clogged cradle that’ll probably melt inside of you and eat right through your fuel tubes.”

Okay, afthead. She was throwing you a bone, you better be picking it up and  _ running  _ with it.

 

Pharma stilled at the door, listening to the conversation he was not a part of. He had to credit Nickel for actually conceding her shortcomings as a non-forged medic so openly. He would never do that. Then again, he also didn’t have shortcomings where skill was concerned. Pharma had been a star medic for good reason. It made up considerably for his nature, or so he’d been told.

He warred with himself. He could just leave. Both Tarn and Nickel didn’t address him, didn’t need him to weigh in, they didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

But he knew exactly how to fix Tarn. It tugged at his pride, which was still being strangled by fear. His hand had stopped on the door panel.

“...flood his transformation chamber with mercury. It eats through the build-up without damaging the lines.”

He fell back into silence immediately, cursing himself for offering any help at all.

 

“Mhmm,” Nickel was already reaching for the mercury. Tarn was still -- unnaturally so. Then, one burning red optic swivelled over to the medic still hovering at the exit.

“Dismissed,” he said, lacking even the oratory flair he usually employed. It was curt, cold, and blanker than a sheet of white paper. Yet it channeled hostility beyond mere threats, or posturing. A quiet Tarn was the most dangerous Tarn.

Nickel quickly distracted him with another series of critical commentary on his addiction. She didn’t look at Pharma either, but conquered all of Tarn’s attention, providing him the space for a quiet, somewhat dignified fleeing.

_ I don’t get paid enough for this slag. _

 

Realizing the opportunity for what it was, Pharma used Nickel’s olive branch to escape the medibay. The ship felt small, each corridor leading to a different sort of nightmare vision of a brutal end. He wanted to run, to fly, he should never have woven himself so closely to Tarn. Controlling him had been a worthy goal, but Pharma had eroded his own hard work, pushing too hard on boundaries he should have been gently whispering to at best.

Not the quiet room. He didn’t want to be there and wait for the day to end.

Avoiding the other members of the DJD seemed prudent, and it landed him on an observation deck used for storage only. At least he knew what was under the massive tarp. The remains of Overlord that had yet to be scattered, or dumped somewhere on a dead world. Pharma had taken everything he could from the massive warframe. He climbed over it, found a niche overlooking the massive window, rich with distant stars he’d never see. The Tyranny was only docked to the warworld for as long as Tarn lead his negotiations. Then, they’d be off on their mission. Where would Pharma be then? Scrap, like Overlord? Or maybe handed off to be someone else’s toy? 

It wasn’t often that things spiralled so far out of his control, but Pharma felt utterly helpless. Worse than on Delphi, even though his options were similar now.

Except now he truly held nothing to negotiate.

He’d used his ‘trump’ card too early, before affirming that Tarn’s emotions for him were stable. Idiot. Impatience would cost him everything.

What could he do?

He had no allies among the sinister pack of Decepticons he was surrounded with. The war world was an option, but a very dim one. Nickel had tagged him. They’d be able to find him, even if he somehow evaded detection and burrowed his way deep down into the dregs.

Avoiding Tarn was only a temporary fix. 

Apologizing seemed astronomically futile. Pharma felt the frustration pull tears from him, and he let them run down his face, his chest, trickling off over the jagged cracks of his cockpit. Apologizing...for what? Wanting to please Tarn? No. Overstepping his boundaries. But would that be good enough?

Pharma traced over Overlord’s shoulder, which ran perpendicular to his ledge. If he had this mech’s plating, he would have run. If he had his size and weaponry, he would have fought Tarn. But he had nothing but himself, his clever servos and a whole mess of emotions that webbed exclusively around Tarn.

Pharma leaned down, exploring the seams of the rusting frame. Overlord hadn’t even had the chance to fight. Not that it mattered to him, but did it take something, someone, like Overlord to stop Tarn? To be rid of Tarn?

He should never have cured the tank. He should never have let that power go. Pharma hopped down, finding a more comfortable seat in the lap of the decapitated Phase Sixer. The question of whether or not he should kill Tarn returned. Would he be free? Yes. But at what cost? Too high. The price of being free of Tarn meant losing any potential use he had for his so-called ‘love’. 

Damage control. He had to come up with something to offer, and then plead for Tarn’s good graces. Maybe he would never regain the status of being Tarn’s ‘miracle’, but he could at least return to being acknowledged.

It was a tall order, but Pharma could fill it.

 

-x-

 

Whether or not they remained on the warworld became irrelevant to Pharma. He redoubled his efforts to avoid Tarn, spoke politely with Nickel (and what a change that made) and acted submissive towards the rest of the crew. Which mostly consisted of not sassing them, allowing their glances to bounce off of him and to never answer any questions with more than the necessary, shortest words he could think of.

But when he was alone, or in the medibay, Pharma worked. Harder than he ever had before. He ran his energon reserves dry before refuelling, pushed his frame to the limits until he practically collapsed for recharge. Around the clock, he was at his station, toiling away until finally, finally he produced something he could offer to Tarn.

Medically speaking, it was a breakthrough. But to Pharma, the former prestige of such discoveries, such ground-breaking work was meaningless. He only hoped Tarn would accept it.

A transformation-cog, of course. The only thing Tarn held dear in this life apart from his former convictions. Fashioned after Overlord’s designs, but with Tarn’s specs. It could have powered a triplechanger far beyond the norm. Or someone who transformed a lot, with absolutely no regard for personal health.

But it wasn’t the adaptation of the triplechanger cog that had been such a revolutionary discovery, but the design of a cooling systems so small it could be built into the cog and sustain extreme over-use. 

It was by no means an indestructible organ, but it was vastly superior to every cog Tarn had ever inserted into himself. 

Now there just remained the question of how to present this gift. Marching to the bridge and addressing Tarn there was impossible. He’d end up getting backhanded through several walls. Waiting for Tarn in the medibay was also ill-fated, given as to how Nickel would potentially interfere for whatever procedure needed to be addressed there in the first place.

His private quarters then.

Pharma had waited for hours in the dark corridor. He didn’t dare stand right by the door, even though he knew Tarn was on the bridge. Every part of Pharma gleamed with polish, his cockpit the only striking reminder of the damage inflicted by Tarn, still cracked, still not replaced.

The box shook in his servos. Would Tarn even understand what kind of genius work Pharma had created, just for him?

Any minute now, he’d feel the heavy step of his commander coming down the hall. Pharma could honestly say he’d never in his life been more afraid to lay optics on Tarn.

 

Another long meeting with Deathsaurus spent squabbling over the message sent by Getaway. Tarn wanted to go, but the beastformer was urging caution. Verifying, scouting parties… it made sense so Tarn reluctantly conceded. Then had been organization on the bridge -- checking resupplying, how the List was going, all the smaller, petty aspects of captaincy Tarn actually enjoyed.

It was late when he navigated his way back to his quarters. The newest T-cog to be implanted into his cradle was already getting a good amount of exercise from how often he’d used it today.  The wide corridors meant he could transform a few more times while making his way to deck three where everyone’s quarters were located. Despite this, it didn’t take long for Tarn to register a presence lurking near his door.

He wasn’t alarmed, though he was suspicious. Nickel’s room was a small alcove within the medibay, and his division was out to carouse the warworld. So that would only leave…

Tarn could have dumped them all on Messatine again, and it still wouldn’t have matched the sudden drop in temperature. Tarn’s field went flat and smooth, not quite dangerous. He watched Pharma, acknowledging his presence for the first time in quite a while. He glanced down at the box Pharma was clutching like a shield.

Truth be told, Tarn’s anger had dissipated a long time ago. What he was feeling now was much crueller and poisonous.  _ Contempt _ .

Pharma and his package could wait. Tarn’s gaze slid over him as if he never existed, and he wordlessly entered his quarters, locking the door behind him.

He could squirm a  _ little more _ before Tarn was going to let him beg for forgiveness.

 

When Tarn’s glance passed over him, Pharma froze, optics down, field sealed, just waiting for whatever might come.

It turned out to be nothing as Tarn passed him by silently, ignoring him very pointedly. Pharma didn’t move, listening to the door lock. As if he’d try to scrabble his way into Tarn’s private quarters...

It was pointed, and it hurt. Tarn’s ire, as it shaped all of Pharma’s life. Why was he still on this ship if Tarn could spare him nothing but silent disapproval, filling every chance meeting with such obvious discontent that the medic felt his plating crawl. He mourned the days Tarn treated him as his addiction, as if he could never get enough of Pharma to fill his endless thirst.

He couldn’t leave. Not without Tarn’s say-so.

So Pharma stayed in the corridor, waiting. It might take hours, it may take days. He wouldn’t leave. He made a promise about that, but he doubted Tarn wanted to remember.

 

The whole night shift passed with no knocks, no sounds at his door. Initially, Tarn thought Pharma had left, discouraged by his reaction. A curious comm from Kaon about why the medic was loitering at his door, however, cut that short.

_ ::Leave it,::  _ he ordered. No reply came -- a silent affirmative.

The box Pharma had been holding -- it had to be intended for Tarn, there was no other reason why he’d be lingering outside his door with it. What was it? Some sort of delivery? A gift? Tarn entertained the thought of breaking it. Bribery would hardly work on him, Pharma should know that by now. Still… his curiosity overrode his general dissatisfaction with Pharma’s existence.

One command later, the door was open. It was Pharma’s prerogative to see if he had the courage to enter.

 

Nothing. Pharma was discouraged alright, but he couldn't give up. This cog would be either a parting gift or a step towards his redemption. Either way, he couldn't go until Tarn had accepted it. So the medic settled himself for a long wait. It may take longer than the night, or the next day, or the day after that. Pharma would wait. For his beloved monster. Even if he never looked at him with reverence ever again. The medic cursed himself plenty for it, for squandering a delicate opportunity, back then. It was the one time he should have obeyed Tarn without question.

The sound of the door opening startled the medic. He glanced around, but no one else could have been approaching Tarn's quarters. So it was for him...

It took more than courage for Pharma to enter, field tight and smooth, helm bowed to watch his feet rather than meet Tarn's gaze, wherever it might linger. The box was clenched to his frame as he took deep invents of air. For all his waiting, he hadn't thought of much to say. Should he bumble over his apology? 

He stopped after several paces into the room, looking up. Best to try and temper his fear and be as polite and submissive as Tarn wanted. Pharma despised being in this position.

"May I speak?"

 

Pharma’s hesitant request was met with silence. Tarn didn’t even bother looking at him -- his gaze was on a holomap -- a star chart, mapping out the galaxy they were in. Pinpricks of light floated in front of Tarn, illuminating the sharp contours of his mask and rendering him a washed out blue and purple.

Tarn didn’t deign to speak. Here was Pharma’s chance. Whether he would fumble it was up to him.

 

Pharma waited a moment longer, but the silence would not be swayed. Very well, this would be what he was waiting for. An opportunity to speak and for Tarn to listen.

“I will not apologise for desiring you,” best to keep his optics on Tarn’s pedes, which were a safe and mildly fascinating subject, “But I realise I...I have overstepped my boundaries. Acted beyond what place you have afforded me. And there is nothing I regret more deeply than offending you by...not obeying your orders.”

It pained him to be this meek, to admit he was at fault. He still clenched the package tight. His apology would have to continue, and even after it was finished, he may not present his gift. Tarn might think it inappropriate.

“If I am of no further use to you, I...would humbly request that you do not bring me back to Messatine.”

_ Please, please don’t leave me alone. _

He wanted to beg and cry, but Pharma’s tears had long since run dry. 

 

A hesitant, tentative apology tumbled from Pharma’s mouth Tarn listened to it, parsed it, then narrowed his optics at the finishing words.

A  _ request _ . Already? Barely finished apologizing, and he was  _ asking  _ for things now. Any bit of forgiveness Tarn might’ve had disappeared with Pharma’s error.  _ Greedy. _

“Dismissed,” Tarn said, giving Pharma only the most perfunctory, contemptuous of looks. He had no more interest in whatever was in the box. In fact, his interest in keeping Pharma on board was waning by the minute. This was more than just Pharma’s egregious overstepping of his boundaries -- it was also the casual little wheedling, trying to take more concessions out of Tarn every time they spoke. Removing Pharma from his side gave him the clarity of thought to reexamine the past few months. What he saw, he didn’t like.

Pharma was a weakness. A flaw. Such a thing had to be excised. Tarn had only one more use left for him, and that didn’t require Pharma’s presence at all.

_ ::Deathsaurus? Let us discuss your proposal of exchanges one more time.:: _

 

_ No, no no _ . This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Was Tarn still angry? Why was he holding onto this one mishap so much? Pharma couldn’t follow his reasoning, at least, not beyond what he himself would have surmised out of the situation. It wasn’t like he had intended to betray or harm Tarn. He’d wanted to give him...

Another dismissal. Pharma felt his spark swirl and clench and all of his plating felt like it was pinching. He was to be banished back to his isolation. He could beg now, and risk Tarn’s wrath. He could insist on his love and be denied, dismissed as worthless. 

He chose to leave, with his dignity somewhat intact. The cog, he’d give to Nickel, to study or use would be up to her. Tarn was finished with Pharma and the medic had never in his life felt like he’d missed a chance like he did now.

 

_ ::So you want to trade him? What was it… Pharma?:: _

_ ::Pharma for Leozack. A display of trust between us. We won’t be separated, barring extreme circumstances, anyway.:: _

_ ::They’ll be housed differently.:: _

_ ::I assure you Leozack will be in no danger from us.:: _

_ ::And my mecha?:: _

_ ::Pardon me?:: _

_ ::Your medic killed four of mine.:: _

_ :: _ **_After_ ** _ attempted rape. A reasonable attack in self-defence.:: _

_ ::... very well. Pharma for Leozack:: _

 


	19. Chapter 19

“Hey, mopey, get up. You’re going out.” Nickel had volunteered for this, upon realizing anyone else would handle it the same way the handled traitors; brutally. “You’re staying on the warworld with Deathsaurus’ crew now.”

She still didn’t know what Tarn and Pharma’s damage was, and she had no interest finding out. It didn’t mean the medic’s metaphorical sobbing in the corner was any less aggravating.

 

“...What?” Pharma stared down at her. This was a poor idea of a joke, surely. Why would he be staying on the warworld? Alone?

A sinking feeling settled into his core, and Pharma answered his own question before Nickel even could; Tarn was getting rid of him. Leaving him behind. Why not kill him? It would hurt less. Pharma’s plating bristled, his vents rattled. This was the end of the line for him with the DJD, and finally Tarn was tired of their games.

“Right now?”

 

“Look, it’s not like you’re leaving _permanently_. You’re being traded out for Leozack, to keep relations with Deathsaurus nice and warm. Once the time’s up, you’ll be back.” Pharma didn’t have any personals to carry with him, so he could walk out right now. Leozack would be here any moment -- Tesarus and Helex were currently setting up the quiet room into a setup more suitable to a guest.

“And yeah. Now. You were itching to go out, so here’s your chance.” A wan smile. “You could have a change of scenery. Some… space, to clear your mind.”

 

Pharma hesitated still. He already knew he couldn’t change his fate, but to just drop it all and leave felt like a surrender.

“Are you sure you’re coming back?”

Living on the warworld was not the solution he’d thought possible, but maybe, a little distance would afford Tarn the time he needed to realise Pharma was an integral part of his life. If not, it gave Pharma time to find and groom a new source of safety and power. It was ideal, technically, this twist of fate. So why did he feel like his insides were rusting at the idea of being abandoned by the DJD, by Tarn?

 

“We’ll be back,” Nickel assured him, “if only because of that T-cog design you’ve got. Tarn can’t keep himself away from shiny new things.”

Nickel hadn’t told Tarn about the T-cog yet. It would take a little grease to get him into the idea, but once he realized what a boon it was, he’d be clamoring to have Pharma bolted down lock and key to the _Peaceful Tyranny_.

There was a ping on her comm. “Oh, there we go. That’s them. Leozack is… a beastformer, I think? Your height and build. Snippy.”

Deathsaurus contingent boarded the _Peaceful Tyranny_ with no trouble, Leozack trailing behind his commander. Tarn was already out to greet them.

 

Pharma left the medibay after saying an awkward farewell that Nickel ignored mostly. He had no belongings, nothing but his frame and his fractured dignity. He made his way all the to the docking bay, where the new arrival was ready to replace him.

Pharma felt jealousy burning in him like never before. Someone new. His height and build. Probably exactly to Tarn’s tastes, but sturdier than Pharma could ever hope to be. He seethed as he stepped closer to them, spark aching to take Tarn’s side.

 

The exchange was brief, and painful. Tarn ignored Pharma as he always did, keeping his attention on Deathsaurus. Leozack was similarly ignored, though the beastformer didn’t seem to mind that. He was busy sizing up Pharma. A sniff.

“Oh. You’re not off your engine with boosters. That’s a nice change.” Leozack’s dry expression didn’t give a hint as to whether he intended that as an insult. “Got any tips for me, for staying on the PT?”

Leozack glanced at Deathsaurus, face momentarily softening. “He’s been… ah, worried about the whole thing. Probably the same with you and Tarn, huh?”

 

Pharma was filled with acid, pede to helm and if Leozack didn’t look so gently afflicted by his commander, the medic would have poisoned him on the spot. Instead, he bit his glossa, hard enough to taste energon and offered an empty smile to his ‘replacement’.

“I’m sure the DJD will make you feel right at home. Commander Tarn is very hospitable.”

And probably would find all sorts of pleasure in Leozack’s company, now that he deprived himself of Pharma’s so willingly.  The medic leaned forward, reaching the beastformer’s audial for a message a little more personal.

“I want to cut your spark out,” he whispered, before leaning back and widening his smile, bowing his helm to him in a mockery of respect before he stepped past Tarn (spark pounding) to join Deathsaurus’ company.

 

Leozack froze, his smile still on his face. It became brittle, before sinking down into a grimace. He let it linger on a short while before it erased into a peaceable nod. Leozack turned, still peaceful. “I hope your stay on the warworld is full of interesting times,” he said, saccharine. Deathsaurus looked concerned, glancing down at the medic now next to him with no small amounts of wariness.

He only heard snippets, and what little he did hear wasn’t… reassuring.

The beastformer was still watching Pharma. Slowly, he leaned to put his hand on Tarn’s forearm. Nothing inappropriate -- the warworld’s inhabitants touched each other quite often, Deathsaurus hardly noticed the action -- and nodded. Tarn didn’t brush the hand away for the sake of diplomacy.

“Don’t worry, ‘saurus,” Leozack said, watching Pharma with a chilly smile, “I think I will be _very_ well received.”

 

Deathsaurus seemed to be waiting for Pharma and Tarn’s parting words. He’d be waiting half an eternity, apparently. Pharma tried to control the horrible mixture of abandonment, jealousy and fear all rolling into one in his field, frame and spark. This was how Tarn wanted it to be. The two of them apart, trading in an old ‘toy’ for a new one.

“I will do my best for you, commander.”

Whether he was addressing Deathsaurus or Tarn remained undefined. He let his optics tick over Tarn, finally daring to meet his gaze. The hurt that bled throughout him intensified. _Don’t leave me._ But it was too late to plead.

 

The farewell between Tarn and Pharma was… awkward, to say the least. Deathsaurus, at least, knew what the expression on Leozack’s face meant. Pharma, however, was a mystery to him. A mystery that wouldn’t stay one for much longer, if Deathsaurus had his way.

He and Tarn finished up their conversation and parted, taking their new guests along with them. Pharma was curiously silent the entire way and his entire body _bled_ negative emotions. He didn’t like this plan, then. Why would Tarn send someone like that over?

Questions, questions.

 

-x-

 

“These are your quarters,” Deathsaurus said, waving his hand over the space. It was a decent one -- berth, separate washracks, a small sitting room set apart from the sleeping area. Even a private alcove, for anything Pharma needed it for -- office, religious space, whatever.

“You probably have some stuff you want to unpack, right?” Pharma didn’t have any visible luggage on him, so maybe it was all in his subspace? It was still rather difficult to get a good read on the medic. He was in none of Deathsaurus’ DJD files, so he had to be a _very_ new member. Then there was that incident at the oilhouse and…

Well, he wasn’t liking how this was going. He’d given Tarn his second-in-command, and in return he got… what? Tarn’s spare medic? _Fragtoy, if rumors be true_. Everyone had heard of Tarn storming in and grabbing Pharma, and their brief fight. Many speculated, though Deathsaurus himself was reluctant to fully buy into idle gossip.

 

“I don’t own anything.” Pharma had no ounce of enthusiasm for his new mission. Even if he understood this was maybe a good experience, he couldn’t dislodge the lump of glum emotion, the abandonment that had become all the clearer when the Peaceful Tyranny departed as soon as he’d stepped foot off of it.

Why was the commander himself showing Pharma his quarters, anyway? All he wanted to do was to drink and try to forget that although he’d been spinning his webs so tightly around Tarn, he was the one entangled in emotions whilst the tankformer dismissed him with the wave of a hand.

“Do you intend to put me to work? Am I to report to another medic?”

 

“Nothing?” Surprising. Was this common practice or the DJD, or specific to Pharma? “I didn’t think Tarn, or his unit, would have been so spartan.”

Now, Deathsaurus was still iffy on the whole alliance with the DJD business. Oh, he saw the benefits all right -- striking his and his soldiers’ names from the notorious List being a major one -- but there were still lingering doubts. Tarn’s honesty, for one. What sort of future he would be led into was another. Hunting Megatron sounded grand, and the DJD was a _massive_ force multiplier, yet…

What sort of mech was Tarn? Deathsaurus initial test was only the briefest measure of his character he could squeeze in into such a limited amount of time to work, but he preferred to get to know his allies a bit closer than that. Knowing Tarn’s temperament, his habits, even what he discussed with his division away from public sight would be a tremendous boon to Deathsaurus ability to gauge him. And through Pharma, he would get that.

Hopefully.

“Rest up,” Deathsaurus urged, “You will have a busy day tomorrow. The details of your stay, including work, will be hammered out officially by tomorrow. Here.” He handed Pharma a slim datapad. “That has my official comm channel on it, and a map around Central HQ. Meeting’s at the beginning of third shift, tomorrow morning, and my office can be found on the map. For now, just settle in. The room has an entertainment center.” Never mind that it was rather sparse at the moment. Banishment to the Outer Rim didn’t afford a mech much opportunity to culture themselves.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. Welcome to the warworld. Pharma.”

 

The medic blinked owlishly once Deathsaurus had taken his leave. That was it? He was handed real accommodations, treated like a crew-member and held a schedule in hand that seemed perfectly ordinary.

What manner of cultured conditions was this warworld operating under? He didn’t see anything on his pad about supposed Decepticon entertainment, fights and fragging, mostly, according to rumor.

He explored only his quarters, indulging fully in having a private washrack and an entertainment system. For the first time in a long time, Pharma felt like a person again. A mech that had a place to live, not a prison. He severely hoped this first impression wouldn’t change.

He spent his night preening, taking care of each little part of his frame with a sort of calm patience and level mind that Pharma hadn’t known in years. If he didn’t look outside, he could pretend he was on Cybertron, working in a clinic. Maybe not Upper Tetrahex, but a decently classy place.

The second shift was ending, and the medic strolled towards where he was expected soon. Walking the warworld had been an entirely different affair. Last time, the looming presence of Tarn and the bitter gall of Pharma’s anger at him had blinded him to the fact he felt relief to be among mecha again.

Even if they were wary. Even if they would never admire him as high society used to. Pharma relished life around him.

 

Deathsaurus was steadily working his way through paperwork when Pharma came in, as scheduled. His wings adjusted, as the two optics above his normal ones glanced up, while the bottom two remained fixated to his current task.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

A few ticks, and he was done, able to turn his full attention to Pharma.

“You’ve settled in well.” Smelled of fresh energon and solvent, everything about him more relaxed than last night, “so now I think it’s time we start discussing how your stay here is going to work.”

He pushed a datapad across the desk. “Here’s a list of hospitals on the warworld you can work in.” They had all been carefully vetted and outfitted with cameras. The mecha working them were the best and brightest of his crew. It was also always good to provide the illusion of choice.

“I’m sure a medic of your reputed skill would be a fine addition to any of them. Besides that, do you know exactly why Tarn and I chose to set this up?”

 

“So you’d inspire trust in each other? Although I have to say, with all due respect, commander, you may have been short-changed, if that mech was your second.” Pharma glanced over the list, feeling something like giddiness flutter through his field. Hospitals to work in. To choose from! Oh...oh that was balm on his processor. Staff to order around, patients to tend to, no shady deals to worry his processor. Fulfilling his function would definitely feel good.

Better than Tarn could ever make him feel.

A small, traitorous part of him wanted to argue, but Pharma strangled it with extreme prejudice. Enough about Tarn. It was time to realise some new direction in his life.

The likelihood of Tarn returning for him was low.

 

 _Animosity with Leozack? Already?_ Another thing to keep an optic or two on.

“Partially,” he conceded, “but also to _learn_. About each other, about the people under our respective commands. Our alliance is a tall order, as is our mission. If we cannot trust the mecha we work with, then we doom ourselves to failure.”

Deathsaurus waited a moment to let Pharma scroll through his list. Then he reset his vocalizer with a pointed click.

“I wanted to ask, doctor, something a bit more personal. I care about everyone under my command, for their welfare. As our honored guest, it would be… poor of me to neglect you as well. You seemed upset last night. Care to explain?”

 

Personal questions? What kind of military operation was Deathsaurus running here? Alright. He wanted to play 20 questions with Pharma? He would be in for a treat. A nice shower, a cushioned berth and entertainment didn’t equate to Pharma’s gratitude and honesty. Those had to be earned and so far, very few people had deserved them.

“It’s very...kind of you to ask, commander. I was,” should he play on Deathsaurus’ sympathies? Would it make the beastformer gain a protective instinct over the ‘helpless’ medic? No, that wasn’t the right angle. Surely Deathsaurus remembered how easily Pharma had dismembered four of his soldiers. With good reason, but still a rash act of extreme violence that would work against any victim mentality.

“Tarn didn’t tell me about your arrangement. Or that I was chosen for it.”

_Tarn abandoned me. Handed me over like a used toy and left me._

Try as he might, Pharma couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Personally, I think it may have been intentional.”

 

“Intentional?” So Pharma was some… unwanted mech Tarn wanted gone? Then why not simply kill him? “Do you want to continue this, anyway?” Deathsaurus might have to have a _talk_ with Tarn over this.

“I will understand if you don’t.” Not really, but Deathsaurus wasn’t going to have a rogue agent running among his troops. “Is this related to your… personal troubles with Tarn?” A risky gamble, but it could have a good payoff.

“Personal troubles? I don’t know where you get your information, commander, but nothing Tarn and I have done is personal.” Pharma flicked through the hospital list, before choosing one that would suit his needs best. It also looked to be the best equipped and central on the warworld.

He tapped his selection into the pad.

“Let me assure you, no matter how I may have...parted ways with my commander, I will not strive to cause you trouble. I’ve been...thoroughly disciplined.”

 

“So reports like _Stay away from the medic, as Tarn is extremely jealous of his company_ and _got into fight over the medic talking to another mech_ are unfounded?” _Please_ . There was something personal entrenched in there, because no one was _that_ personally hurt over not being informed.

“Tarn was very protective of you,” he said, letting drop a few bones to lead Pharma on. “It took me quite a while to agree on a deal with him. I would have bunked you with the medical staff, but Tarn _insisted_ on a private room, with everything attached.”

 

“He did?” Pharma perked up. Getting information about Tarn from a third party had been impossible on the Peaceful Tyranny, where everyone was firmly on Tarn’s side of every argument and the uncomfortable, dismissing silence as of late. Although Nickel had softened a smidgen, she’d never warmed to him enough to make Pharma feel like he had any connection to anyone aboard that ship.

“That’s unexpected. I didn’t even have quarters and he’s been...” looked up, words dying out as he realized that Deathsaurus was listening a little too intently.

“Under strain. Since Megatron’s defection and all.”

 

So Tarn _was_ a weak point for Pharma. Deathsaurus nodded understandingly. “Tarn is a strong believer of the Cause, though I’ve found myself disillusioned with it, and such an action would have shaken him quite a lot.”

“He was also rather defensive of the oilhouse incident. Insisted you were the victim of an attempted crime, and told me if I didn’t keep you safe, _he_ would personally intervene.” Not in such strong words, but clear enough. Deathsaurus had the recorded transmissions between them. “He’s never been so protective over the rest of his unit. Only you.”

 

Warmth curled through Pharma’s spark, even if he tried to squash it down and square it away to his messy affliction. Deathsaurus didn’t know what he was talking about. Tarn was just marking his strength, making sure his negotiation partner would bow to his whims. To prove he was in control. Pharma almost felt bad for the beastformer, who seemed to believe in Tarn’s personal feelings as existent.

His spark stuttered, refused to allow the bitterness to chase out the warmth. Traitor.

“Maybe you don’t understand how Tarn behaves. This isn’t about me. This is about making sure you will obey him. If you were paying attention to every detail, if you will obey his will even in his absence. He cares for me less than a scrap of plating on his pede.”

 

“I can provide proof.” The devil was in the details. Pharma’s denial may as well have been a confirmation that he and Tarn were mixed up in wild, inadvisable things and that Tarn had gambled away his… fragtoy? Partner? _Lover_?

“Do you care to listen?”

 

“I...” he shouldn’t. It wouldn’t make any difference. Tarn wasn’t here now. Tarn wouldn’t come back, most likely, and Pharma would have to do whatever it took to survive on the warworld.

But he wanted to know. He needed to know what Tarn had said in regard to him, because he sure as Pit hadn’t been able to read the tankformer as of late.

“Play it. I’m sure it will mean nothing.”

 

 _It means everything to you_.

Deathsaurus located the file, and it began to play from his personal datapad’s speakers, albeit slightly tinny.

 _“How will the exchange work?”_ Deathsaurus’ voice, cautious but polite.

_“Consider it exchanging assets among us. Engendering trust, for the future. We are too busy to involve ourselves in each other’s business, but the mecha under us can work just as well. Your second, for Pharma.”_

_“Pharma is your second?”_

_“He is close enough.”_

The file ended. Another began. _“So, he’ll be put in the medical bunks and -- “_

_“Leozack will be housed in his own room. Surely, the same can be afforded for Pharma? He is not a mere medic, but a guest.”_

_“...I see.”_

_“With every luxury that should be afforded to such a person.”_ Deathsaurus’ concessions here were acceptable, in exchange for deeper insight into Tarn. Giving Pharma a nice room and treating him with the good gloves would hardly hinder his operations.

_“In the light of Pharma’s encounter, perhaps a security detail?”_

_“He killed them. I don’t think he needs guards.”_

_“He was on circuit boosters. What if there are more, next time? Or a different drug is used? Pharma can be… uncaring of his personal security, at times.”_

_“You haven’t asked for details for your unit.”_

_“My unit are all capable of handling themselves. Pharma, being a lesser known member of the division, may have less awe at his presence.”_

_“Oh? He’s a full member of your division?”_

_“... yes. He is. And he is my responsibility.”_

 

He should have denied Deathsaurus the chance. Now, Pharma battled a flurry of pesky emotions that wanted even more to grovel for Tarn’s forgiveness, to know his touch and his favour once more. Oh he was so weak, just listening to the voice that he’d been denied for weeks made his spark pulse harder.

And to know that Tarn had put such...thought into this. Into Pharma’s stay. To be comfortable, to be safe. The medic swallowed, cleared his vocalizer.

“What...are you really asking, commander Deathsaurus? What are you trying to prove?”

A member of the division. In Tarn’s own words. Pharma’s servo came to cover his bare chest.

“Try to understand my position here,” Deathsaurus offered diplomatically. “I don't know you. I don't know why Tarn gave me you, out of everyone possible. That makes me worried, and inclined to investigate. Tarn is still a mystery to me and your public fight with him raised a lot of questions.”

Deathsaurus was already noting down how Pharma behaved. The subtle body language, his reactions to the transmissions -- it all screamed of personal attachment. He didn't get here, with five hundred mecha out in the Outer Rim in direct defiance of the very bogeymen they were allying with right now, because he couldn't read people.

“Work with me,” he said, almost kindly, “and I can help you.”

“You can’t. No one can.” Pharma wanted to snarl, but it came out as merely spiteful. What did Deathsaurus think he could do for the medic? Afford him a comfortable stay? Maybe. But giving him personal information on Tarn...that felt wrong. Even if Tarn was throwing Pharma to the cyberwolves, he still belonged to the medic. In a way, he always would. He could personally shred Pharma and that wouldn’t change. Terror and fear hadn’t cleansed Pharma of his addiction just yet.

“Tarn left me here because I am expendable. He made sure to make you treat me a certain way, but he is a mech on a mission. I don’t contribute to it. I’m not a combatant, and...”

A distraction.

Pharma’s optics flared a little brighter. Was...was that the  _ answer _ ? Was that what Tarn thought of him?

It made sense. A little too much so.

“You want to know if I am Tarn’s lover, don’t you. Or his  _ fragtoy. _ Just say it, commander, I know you’re thinking it.”

“Not so strongly,” Deathsaurus carefully deflected. “I suspect personal involvement, yes, but not quite that far.”  _ Not until now.  _

“Are you and Tarn in a relationship?” Pharma's sad little insistences that he meant nothing to Tarn were baseless and, frankly, suspicious in their intensity.

Pharma could answer this one with utter confidence. He may not know what his own, complicated feelings for Tarn meant, but he sure as Pit knew what Tarn backhanding him across a medibay meant.

“No.”

They weren’t. Relationships didn’t work that way. If anyone would describe them as being together, Pharma would very much wish to check them for insanity. There was no balance between himself and the mech he irrevocably hated and wanted. Wanted so badly.

This was going to be a lonely stay, of that he was quite sure.

“I’ve made attempts. But you can believe me, Deathsaurus, we are not in a relationship.”

_ Attempts.  _ So Tarn was uninterested?  _ That's not what our conversations say.  _ But how can you convince a mech who's convinced himself?

“Thank you. This sheds quite a lot of light on the matter.” At least he got something out of this. “So let's move on to your work schedule, shall we?”


	20. Chapter 20

Tarn didn't like Leozack. He was short, but his lion’s crest threw Tarn off. His frame wasn’t right either. He snapped at the wrong things and didn't care for the finer things of life.

Close enough, but tragically different.

Though he was never tense with him, Leozack seemed to comprehend a certain discomfort at his presence. This he all reported back to Deathsaurus. A few of them began to get worrying.

“Pharma, have you and Tarn talked recently?”

 

The routine meetings with Deathsaurus were almost pleasant. Pharma took it as an opportunity to gripe and complain, as well as make suggestions about how to optimize his utility whilst he was here, on the warworld.

This question though had him grimace.

“No. Tarn has made it very clear he will not listen to what I have to say. Why do you ask, Deathsaurus?”

His tone with the commander was amiable by now. Pharma had relaxed a lot since his arrival.

 

“A T-cog burn out. Tarn had a new one implanted, but it's giving him trouble. A fight broke out, and his cradle was shattered. He can't transform and that's making him… tense. Perhaps a talk between you two might help?”

Technically, Deathsaurus shouldn't know all this. At least he knew Pharma wasn't doing too much spying on him. The medic was making friends and allies wherever he went, and had accrued a number of admirers both open and secret. What that boded for him and Tarn, Deathsaurus didn't know. At least he was fitting in decently. He hoped the same of Leozack.

 

A shattered cradle was bound to make Tarn unbearable. Pharma had no delusions about that. He wouldn’t be able to transform until they returned, and this time, Pharma wasn’t there to ease the discomfort of his withdrawal.

A conversation couldn’t help, he couldn’t project his valve across the galaxy, after all. But he was amicably dispositioned towards Deathsaurus, and inclined to do anything to ease his worries for his second. It was entirely moving how much Deathsaurus cared for his soldiers. Tarn could learn a thing or two in that department.

“You’re worried he’ll take it out on your second.”

Leozack didn’t deserve that. Possessive jealousy ignited Pharma’s spark. Tarn couldn’t possibly find relief within that mech. He was too bulky, he was...

Possible. Pharma knew that Tarn was very, very diligent about his grudges, and he had made his own towards his spare medic very clear. Perhaps Leozack was about to become the entertainment that would distract Tarn from the pains of his withdrawal.

Oh that mech, what would he do without Pharma’s expert care? The shattered cradle...it would bring Tarn back to him.

“...I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

There was a comm unit in his quarters, and there was one here. Pharma knew if he called over his private comm line, he’d most likely be denied an answer. Tarn was petty like that. If he used the console here, it would connect under Deathsaurus’ authority.

Pharma reached out tentatively, brushing his fingertips over the square, flat machine.

“Are you intending to supervise, commander?”

 

Deathsaurus gave him access to the comm for his office. He debated staying, versus going out to afford Pharma privacy for what might be a… personal conversation. The transmissions were all recorded anyway and his absence might make them more inclined to talk freely. Deathsaurus nodded.

“Not at all. I’ll give you some privacy, then.” He left before Pharma could protest.

 

-x-

 

_ On the Peaceful Tyranny _

To say that Tarn’s moods grew worse when he couldn’t transform was like saying the ocean was a little deep, or that water was a little wet. He was broody, sulky, and vengeful, prowling around the ship like a dark spirit searching for someone to curse. His crew knew Tarn well enough to strategically slide out of his way when this happened. Leozack… not so much.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you should’ve been more careful back on that planet. Deathsaurus  _ always _ – “

“The day I  _ endeavor  _ for your critical analysis of battles will come. It hasn’t now, however, so  _ cease _ .”  _ Hurting him would be bad, try not to _ .

“If you receive all critique like this, then I – “

“ _ Enough _ .”

Leozack shut up with a gulp, his spark spasming in an unfamiliar way. Tarn regarded him coolly. He was no replacement for Pharma. He wasn’t nearly as beautiful, or clever. The brief idea of turning him over was nixed because as it turns out,  _ Leozack was annoying _ . Not so annoying to warrant constant punishment, but just enough to grate on Tarn’s patience.

 

::Tarn, incoming transmission from the warworld.::

Pharma waited anxiously in the office. Tarn hadn't even picked up yet, even though the connection to the Tyranny had successfully been established. Maybe he was in too dark a place to contemplate communication. What if he just hung up? Pharma didn't know what he'd say, but he knew the mixed feelings in him blended together to form excited apprehension.

He made sure he looked perfectly presentable as he waited for an answer.

 

_ ::Deathsaurus?:: _

Tarn was currently holed up in his quarters – on the berth, to be precise. His mood was sour and an attempted transformation had caused sufficient agony for him to not want to try that anytime soon. Nickel told him to stay on the berth until his right leg no longer seized when he put weight on it. Apparently, there was a very profound reason as to why transforming without a cradle was a bad idea. It was called  _ painful death by accidentally ripping your body apart like a damned fool _ .

_ ::Did you need something?::  _ He managed to sound presentable over comm. His face wasn’t broadcasted, so his pitiful state of moping wasn’t visible.

 

The connection came through and Pharma heard Tarn’s mood immediately. He wasn’t all that good at hiding it, at least not from those who had experienced them first hand. 

::...It’s good to hear your voice.::

His spark was spasming without Tarn even remotely touching it. Pharma stared at the console, trying to imagine where Tarn was, how he’d look now. Probably brooding in his quarters. His mood would probably sour upon understanding it was not Deathsaurus who had enquired upon him, despite the signature.

 

It took a few moments before Tarn realized who he was talking to. The jealousy that sprang up when he realized this meant that Pharma was in  _ Deathsaurus _ ’ office, using  _ Deathsaurus _ ’ comm signature sent a blinding hot lash through him that he strangled down into embers.  _ ::If only I could say the same.:: _

_ Here to gloat, are you? Already attached yourself to someone else?  _ Unreasoning, this. Tarn wasn’t in a very reasonable mood right now. He wanted to be bitter and jealous, not welcoming and understanding.

The decanter of high grade was looking more and more tempting.  _ ::I see you actually have a spine when we’re not in the same room.:: _

 

At least he was speaking to Pharma. His petty bitterness and scathing tone could be ignored, because Tarn was lightyears away. Pharma leaned on the table, drumming his fingertips with impatience for the tankformer’s sullen mood.

::I heard you shattered your cradle. When are you coming back? Are you in pain? What has Nickel done to dampen it? Mercury baths?:: he ignored the jab in favour of his own questions. Blatant concern leaked through his tone, too warmly to be snippish. 

Last time he’d spoken to Tarn, he’d gotten nothing but a dismissal. This conversation was already more than triple of that and it gave him hope. Maybe the distance had cooled Tarn’s rage for him. All the snippets Deathsaurus had fed him gave Pharma something to cling to.

 

He clearly needed a drink for this. Hm. Maybe he could replace his transformation addiction with high grade. Wouldn’t that be fun?

Not that he really would. It was easier to think of random scenarios than pay Pharma’s concern any mind. Tarn was beginning to regret picking up the ping. Maybe he should hang up?

_ Coward _ , said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Nickel.

It’d been easier to be angry at Pharma when Tarn saw him everyday in the walls of the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ and could continuously feed his resentment. Now, with him gone and Leozack in his place, his outrage was cooling fast, leaving Tarn feeling less like an avatar of rage and more like he was carrying out a tantrum longer than needed.

It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. Usually, he killed people for less.

_ ::The Peaceful Tyranny returns once our mission is carried out. Nickel has done enough.::  _ Which mean Nickel helped the pain, but Tarn went and ruined her efforts. It was a vicious cycle of self-destruction.

 

Enough? That probably meant Nickel had barely taken the edge off and Tarn had rushed out of the medibay, insisting on enduring ridiculous amounts of pain  rather than admit he was in it. The mech was an addict through and through, which, when combined with his thunderous temper and tendency to sulk, resulted in vast consequences of poor health and terrible atmospheres aboard the ship.

Pharma didn’t wish to be there. He didn’t envy Nickel her position, even if she was steeped in Tarn’s trust in a way Pharma could never hope to achieve.

::I’ll prepare for your return and the replacement cradle. Commander Deathsaurus has been very supportive of my work in the hospital.::

Deathsaurus had been extremely supportive in general, thinking about it now. It should please Tarn, to know Deathsaurus was adhering to his rules and treating Pharma well.

From authorizing his research on spare cogs to granting him access to some of the more private oil house events, Pharma had been downright spoiled.

 

_ ::Don’t get too used to his ‘support’.::  _ The remark slipped out without much thought and Tarn dimmed his optics. Pits, what was next? Insisting on Pharma calling him from now on? Taking away his privileges? A migraine was building, and Tarn pressed his face to a cooler side of the berth. Withdrawal was such a gear grinder.

His shifting pressed something on his comm, and a blue light shot up, broadcasting Pharma’s face and in return, his own visage.  _ Ugh _ . He looked a mess, face screwed up in a constant grimace of pain, dentae gritted hard enough to grind the outer layers thin, one optic brightening and cycling into zoom while the other remained dim. The early days were  _ always  _ the worst.

_ ::You’re certainly enjoying yourself. Finally where you belong?::  _ Oilhouses, fancy hospitals, company of new and exciting mecha… the  _ Peaceful Tyranny’s  _ itinerant lifestyle didn’t offer those. Tarn had been fine with that, but Pharma was used to a more settled, cosmopolitan living. The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ was a comfortable ship, but it was, by nature, small and efficient compared to Deathsaurus’ lumbering warworld. 

 

Tarn looked awful. Hideously in pain, clearly in the stages of withdrawal. Like a large mess of dark metals that someone had dropped without intention of giving the frame a structure. Pharma didn’t need to see his expression to know his face was probably contorted with pain.

He stared. Even though Tarn was in pain and a mess and an aft, the sight of him warmed Pharma’s spark. They were talking, at least. No dismissal yet, no cold glare. 

::You made sure my stay would be comfortable. I think it’s only fair I enjoy the fruit of that labour.::

He continued to watch Tarn, noting which parts of his frame shifted, how dim his optic glowed...A silent communication to Nickel’s medibay would see a flood of data, blueprints to construct a temporary cradle or a more powerful sedative for the pain. There was no way Tarn was going to sustain himself through his ‘mission’ without any aid, no matter how stubborn the will of the mech was.

 

_ ::Stop diagnosing me.::  _ Tarn knew Pharma well enough to sense when he went from ‘casual’ to ‘medical examiner’. Tarn offlined his optics, so their opposing visual feedback didn’t make him nauseous. Moving slowly and by rote memory (along with a good deal of help from his sensors), he poured himself a shot. In such a mood, Tarn couldn’t really appreciate the smooth, oily flavor of the high grade.

_ ::Would you rather stay with Deathsaurus?::  _ This conversation called for another shot. Organics used alcohol as pain reliever, didn’t they?

 

It was a waste of high-grade. If Tarn really wanted to relieve his pains, he should be guzzling shots of clinical dampener. Who knew how much shrapnel was lodged in his internals...Pharma’s medical protocols itched and his servos tapped the table harder. Why did caring for Tarn have to be such hard work?

The question, he should have expected. He’d spoken highly of the commander and it was bound to lodge itself into Tarn’s memory. Firmly.

::I assume you mean compared to being with you, on your ship?:: To be perfectly honest, he should say yes. Confirm that Tarn had been the one to sever their ties. 

And part of him would say Tarn deserved no loyalty from him. Yet what he did say wasn’t even remotely that.

::I wish I was with you right now.:: Pharma’s vocalizer hitched. He remembered exactly how he felt when Tarn needed him, every day, for his addiction. 

 

Having Pharma right here with him now would mean interfacing again. A lot. Considering Pharma’s lack of complaints, apparently overloads were a totally permissible addiction therapy.  _ ::Right now, while I have no transformation ability.::  _ Tarn confirmed.  _ ::But ‘right now’ is so impermanent.:: _

_ Right now _ . When Tarn was weak, when Pharma knew Tarn would be more forgiving.  _ RIght now _ . So not any other time, then?

 

Pharma frowned at the screen. There was accusation in Tarn’s words, and maybe it was justified, but the mech should be in too much pain to be pulling apart Pharma’s every word like this.

::You’ve forgotten so quickly what I said. How I feel. I understand it doesn’t suit you, Tarn, but that doesn’t mean you have to trample on my every thought of you.::

Tarn did. He always would. Every tender potential that Pharma could think of was ruined by another part of Tarn. He was a difficult tool, a horribly jealous lover and a wrathful superior. Everything Pharma should avoid, wrapped up in one mech. His servo went to his chest, where the blank space no longer prevailed. His badge was a mere matter of public appearance, not of allegiance.

 

_ ::Interesting sentiments coming from you.::  _ Tarn’s suspicions refused to be mollified without Pharma here, for him to touch and jealously take. It was poisonous, this kind of thinking. Pharma didn’t deserve half this jealousy, but Tarn found it increasingly hard to wrangle.

He noticed movement as the bottom of the screen. A shifting of Pharma’s shoulders.  _ ::What are you holding?:: _

 

::Nothing.:: Pharma didn’t move his servos any further. He knew Tarn would have some sort of reaction to his badge, he was bound to cause an enormous drama over so trivial a matter. Tarn’s pride and possession worked in mysterious ways.

::And it’s not a mere sentiment. I stand by what I told you, before you were through with me. That’s the only thing keeping me from real enjoyment of the admirers I’ve gathered here. They appreciate my skills so thoroughly. Deathsaurus thought it best to keep them at a tempered distance, and I agree. They’re so enthusiastic. As if they’ve never seen a forged medic before. Well. They probably haven’t.::

Pharma flippantly gestured, realising only too late that he’d uncovered his chest.

 

Pharma’s rambling about how  _ many  _ admirers he had, how  _ attracted  _ they were, his  _ preening  _ at their attention was enough to draw Tarn’s ire on its own. The badge on his chest was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“You’re  _ branded _ ?!” he thundered, his grip on his glass growing tight enough to shatter the thing and spill energon down his forearm, “Who branded you? Why did you – you did that  _ without  _ me?” His demands were growing louder and angrier by the minute, Tarn’s optics blazing online, promising dire retribution.

Pharma had exposed his spark to someone. Pharma had let them harvest the metal from his chamber, let them  _ shape it _ , let then  _ brand him a Decepticon _ and Tarn wasn’t there to see it, and –  worse yet, he wasn’t the one to do  _ it _ .

“You –  you –” he had  _ no words _ left. Nothing could adequately convey the sudden upheaval of his emotional state. 

 

Ah, yes, that was along the lines of what he expected. Tarn still held most things Decepticon up as sacred, of course he’d be upset. The predictable fool. Pharma flinched when the glass shattered, servo tracing the outline of the jagged badge.

“It was a measure of safety. Too many mecha believed me to be a neutral and...well, incidents have happened.” 

Pharma’s fingers framed the badge. It kept most from questioning his loyalty and inspired less ire when he proved himself utterly superior to any medic on the warworld. No one had tried to corner him since then, no one had demanded to know why Pharma was still considered MIA Autobot CMO of Delphi on whatever information had been pilfered.

“It’s not made from my sparkcasing, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would never expose myself to a bunch of De...anyone. I wouldn’t. This is practically painted on. To keep the rabble calm and from asking questions.”

_ So, so jealous. Did Tarn dream of cutting out the metal and shaping it himself? _

 

“Show it to me.” Tarn  _ had  _ to make sure. He felt another burst of irritation. Just because Tarn wasn’t there, didn’t mean he was to…

_ Protect himself? Do the sensible thing? _

“I  _ told  _ Deathsaurus to keep you safe!” he snarled instead. “If you need a  _ badge,  _ then he isn’t doing good enough of a job.” Pharma managed to last perfectly fine on his ship without a badge, and was never in any danger. Yet the minute he steps foot on the  _ warworld _ , he’s suddenly scrambling for cover.

“Once this is over, you’re no longer permitted a further stay on the warworld.”  _ Clearly _ , only Tarn could keep Pharma safe. Forget letting him stay, forget what he wanted. He wasn’t safe.

Pharma brought the machine closer, giving Tarn a better view of the very lightly attached metal. It wasn’t welded to anything but the surface layer of his plating, like a very mild graft. It hadn’t even hurt.

“Deathsaurus **is** keeping me safe. He thought this would help. I don’t want to be surrounded by a security detail every time I step outside.” There was gentle insistence in Pharma’s tone, genuine fondness for the commander who tried so hard to make him comfortable and keep his soldiers safe from missteps.

Mecha held grudges against former Autobots, against the DJD. And Pharma’s nature as a non-combatant had become apparent very quickly. 

Tarn’s concern. There it was again, wrapping around Pharma like a thermal blanket in the dead of a Messatine winter. 

“No one... _ touched _ me, not like that. But in order to avoid any messes, this was the easiest solution.”

 

“Messes that shouldn’t even be a possibility had he kept a tighter leash on his soldiers,” Tarn said, voice tense. He was displeased –  _ very  _ displeased. The  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ was going to be going on a faster deadline to get to the warworld sooner, Tarn resolved. He was still irritated with Pharma, but he wanted to be irritated with him in the safety of his own ship.

Then… there was that T-cog.

“The T-cog you gave me is still functioning,” he said, a little halting without the quick fuse of his temper backing him up, “even after my cradle shattered.”

He should get Pharma something. Something Deathsaurus couldn’t give him. 

 

Pride filled Pharma’s field, not that Tarn could sense or see it, but the medic perked up. So Nickel had done it, installed the t-cog into Tarn...probably a long while ago, if it was still functional now and Tarn would mention it.

“I’ll try to make your next cradle as resilient.”

It was the best gesture Pharma could offer to him. It wasn’t a thank you, out of Tarn, but the closest he could get.

“You know I could cure your addiction, right?” he mused, tracing over his vents. Each time his finger skipped to the next one, a soft tink sounded.

 

“There is no need.” Other medics had suggested very much the same. Tarn has yet to accept treatment, one way or another. “I wager you’d rather replace my addiction for something else. Another thing, or, a  _ person _ .”

Tarn followed the motion of his hand greedily. Pharma touching himself had… an effect on Tarn. Fascination and more than a little bit of hunger. Even if he was in pain right now, Tarn could still muster up some attraction. Perhaps  _ because  _ of his situation, in fact.

What kind of gift would Pharma want? Something exotic, surely, but he wasn’t the frivolous type to be distracted by shiny things… he’d appreciate it, sure, but that was shallow.

 

Tarn’s glance wasn’t lost on Pharma. The mech was desperate for distraction from his withdrawal. Pharma could help. Pharma could always help.

“Can you blame me for it? Do you know how good I felt, knowing you wanted me everyday, in every way possible?” Pharma sighed, lingering and savouring the memory. His servo ran over his wing, lightly rubbing in an imitation of Tarn’s touch. Rarely careful, and always evoking response.

“You needed me, back then. I was foolish to hope for more, I know that now. I should not have confessed my addiction and affliction to an addict.”

 

Tarn’s sense of caution warned him that  _ this  _ was a path he didn’t want to go down, not if he wanted to retain the clarity Pharma’s absence created. Tarn’s sense of caution was promptly run over by Tarn’s charge, that’d been so painstakingly cultivated by everything they’d done for so often, and now had been cruelly cut off.

“Do you think I don’t want you, even now? That I have ever stopped wanting you? If you were here, right now, I wouldn’t let you leave my berth even once.”

 

Those words shouldn’t be as inviting as they were. Pharma knew very well how cold and distant Tarn had been before his departure. And yet, now he spoke as if he had held onto his affection for Pharma, had sustained it behind that horrendous grudge. 

“That’s all I’ve been thinking of,” Pharma muttered, pinching his wingtips a little, drawing a hitched vent out of himself. Tarn was so far away....nothing he said could punish, or reward Pharma. He was but a memory with a voice at this point.

“I was afraid of you. Again. I still am. But I want to be with you Tarn. You didn’t leave me here for good, did you?”

 

“I always come back for you, Pharma.” Delphi, Messatine, even here. “I couldn’t leave you even if I tried.”

Pharma was touching himself. Tarn wished he was there as well, to stroke along his shoulders, and squeeze the narrow span of his waist. “Love me, fear me… what difference does it make? I wanted you, when you were still an Autobot and hated me. Do you think a mere… disagreement, could change that? I wanted you, even after you tried to kill me. I… miss you.”

 

“Tarn...” Pharma whined, the warmth burrowing in and cracking apart his fear. Tarn could have told him all of this sooner, before they were too far apart to do anything about it. If Pharma could, he would crawl into the tankformer’s lap, and kiss his scars and lips with enthusiasm.

“I miss you...so much. I didn’t think I would, but I do.”

Tarn was right about fear and love; they made no difference to Pharma’s addiction. He was in withdrawal too, but his symptoms were vastly different.

“You hurt me, you could have killed me; I would still love you,” Pharma chuckled without any humor in his voice, “it’s pathetic. I should have been happy you left me here. But all I could think about is whether or not you were done with me. Whether you’d leave me alone, for good.”

Pharma’s frame didn’t really fit on the table, but he could lean back in the chair and allow his servos to drift down over his cockpit.

 

“I think we have a lot to make up for, once we see each other again.” Tarn chuckled mirthlessly – self deprecation, really. He and Pharma always got tangled up like this. Fights that devolved into passioned confessions, before they forgot them again and started fighting all over again. It was a vicious cycle.

Pharma’s hands were still wandering over his frame enticingly. Tarn watched their silent progress, before cutting in.

“You’re still in his office?” the idea of Pharma doing  _ this  _ in someone else’s space should have angered Tarn. It only made his excitement heighten, however. “How much do you miss me, Pharma?”  _ Enough to lose your shame? _

 

Pharma’s hands stilled, pooled in his lap as he looked at the screen. Tarn looked...eager now. Greedy. He had seen opportunity before Pharma offered it to him. Yes, he was in Deathsaurus’ office. Yes, he was feeling warm under his plating.

But that didn’t meant Pharma was ready to be utterly depraved.

“What are you asking me, really, Tarn?”

He couldn’t...but Deathsaurus was bound to listen to their conversation. Whether it was now or later, he’d know there was much he’d been right about.

And besides, Pharma wanted to test how far the goodwill of the handsome beastformer stretched.

“Do you want me to be lewd?” he whispered, tipping himself back so the top of his panel was visible to Tarn.

“Do you want to touch myself for you?”

 

“I do,” Tarn confirmed. His vents clicked on – unmistakeable over the comm –  as more of Pharma came into view. The pings hadn’t started yet, but given time and more of Pharma…

… perhaps it was a good thing he was in his quarters. “Not just that. I want to watch. I want to hear you say my name, and know that even separated like this, it was me who made you overload. Can you do that, Pharma?”

Tarn was hoping no interruptions would ensue. Deathsaurus was… inconvenient, but…

… well, he  _ was  _ handsome. Not the beauty like Pharma, but appealing, in his own, bestial manner. As long as he knew his place, Tarn could live with his presence.

 

“I can do that,” Pharma promised. It didn’t matter to him if this was shameful. The warworld believed him to be Tarn’s...pet or toy already, and their opinions meant nothing to Pharma if he wasn’t going to stay. Besides, plenty of mecha wanted him anyway.

His panel slid open audibly, his servos moving below Tarn’s line of sight. If Pharma wanted, he could keep his valve out of view for the entire duration of this little lewd act, but Tarn couldn’t touch him anyway. He may as well see what he was missing.

Pharma propped his legs onto the table, elevating awkwardly between turbine and pedes, but he managed a very nice angle for Tarn to see everything. Pharma’s servos circled his valve, the anterior node pulsing a soft blue.

“Like this?”

 

“Yes,” Tarn breathed, riveted to the image before him. Pharma had a beautiful valve –  one that matched his overall appearance, the vain thing –  and Tarn found himself appreciating its pristine color like he’d never before. He wanted to dig in right now, be it fingers or glossa or spike, as long as he could experience it himself, in person.

“Spread yourself, I want to see more.”

Tarn and Pharma’s attention was glued to each other. Enough that neither noticed the heavy steps outside until it was too late.

“Pharma? I hope I’m not interrupting anything, I just need to… get…” Deathsaurus trailed off as his olfactory sensors caught it first. Lubricant, arousal, and charge, hanging in the air, unexpected and harsh sent him reeling. Then he caught sight of Pharma, legs spread and panel gone, with Tarn looking at him. There was a crash as the brief hint of grey derma disappeared, then was replaced by purple metal.

“What,” he said, through numb lips, “in the Pits?”


	21. Chapter 21

“What,” he said, through numb lips, “in the Pits?”

“Ah, Deathsaurus. Just in time.” Tarn recovered from his dive admirably quickly, looking unruffled as he looked at what little of the beastformer he could see beyond Pharma’s legs. Inside, he was panicking, but maybe,  _ just maybe _ , this could be a good thing. That, or Tarn was going to have to kill him. It depended.

 

Pharma was three fingers deep in his own valve and with charge sufficiently ramped up, he felt very little shame. His optics hazy and a pleased smile on his lips, he greeted Deathsaurus amiably.

“Commander Deathsaurus.”

In time? What was Tarn thinking? Pharma’s mind zeroed in on the size of the beastformer. He’d be close enough...if Pharma pressed himself to the screen, he could even pretend Tarn was not halfway across the galaxy.

Pharma radiated invitation. Tarn’s scramble was undignified, but at least one of them could handle the situation gracefully. The office was unbearably warm and his frame heated, fingers soaked with lubricant.

 

“When I thought you would have a conversation with Tarn to help him,” Deathsaurus said in a carefully measured tone, “this was not what I expected. Maybe this should have been done in your own rooms, doctor.” 

It was a struggle to remain professional, but years with Leozack gave Deathsaurus some resistance to this sort of surprise. He just hadn’t expected  _ this  _ from Pharma, or more importantly,  _ Tarn _ .

“Consider it an invitation.” Tarn’s unreadable mask was on the screen again, and he was watching Deathsaurus with a penetrating gaze that made him shift uncomfortably. “Pharma’s rather in need of assistance, wouldn’t you agree?”

Warning bells went off. “If this is meant to be a  _ test _ ,” he started, unsure.

“No, no, not at all. Our particular… situation renders us unable to be there for each other. And I owe Pharma an apology. This is the least of what I can do.” 

Um. “Are you agreeing to this?” Deathsaurus asked Pharma, torn. On one hand, a totally willing and ready interface partner. One the other hand, this was Tarn’s lover and Deathsaurus wasn’t sure if he wanted to go near  _ that  _ powder keg.

 

“Commander,” Pharma purred, willing to play Tarn’s game since he’d be the undisputed benefactor of all of this. His valve was twitching, too ready for stimulation thicker than Pharma’s own fingers. Which he withdrew for Deathsaurus’ and Tarn’s viewing pleasure, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean.

“I’m more than agreeable with this. I miss Tarn so dearly, but you have been so good to me, making me comfortable, tending to my needs.”

Pharma pulled his legs off of the table, needing a different position if Deathsaurus would be ready to do him this ‘favour’. He leaned on the table instead, aft pointedly offered. 

 

“You want me to…?” Deathsaurus walked over to Pharma as if in a trance, staring at Tarn and Pharma in alternating turns. “Are you  _ sure _ –”

“ _ Indeed _ ,” Tarn purred, and Deathsaurus shivered when he felt the wisps of Tarn’s dreaded talent pass over him. It felt different from the painful spasms of their first meeting, sending up pings everywhere. “ _ Listen to me. Obey me. Pharma is yours to please _ .”

Oof. Each word was sending shudders through Deathsaurus’ field, ratcheting his arousal up at record speed. So, some of the raunchier rumors about Tarn  _ were  _ true. His panel slid away, and his spike came into view. Blue all the way, with lines of red biolights running down its length. There were a few raised lines, where spines rested.

“Should I…?” he held up his hand, offering to stretch Pharma if needed. Deathsaurus wasn’t small by no means, after all. He still felt as if in a trance, like this was just a very vivid, intricate dream. Maybe that was why he skipped over things like  _ you were fingering yourself in my office  _ and  _ what the hell, Tarn _ .

 

Pharma’s optics were glued to Tarn on the screen. This was a new game, one they could both enjoy playing. Their powers here didn’t matter, it was just about giving pleasure to each other. Deathsaurus was nothing more than a handsome, remotely controlled toy for Tarn to please him with. Pharma knew the heated mess of emotions towards Tarn was no longer under his own control. That love he’d been so insistent was all a ruse felt real now, surging hard through his spark. Tarn would make use of his allies just to  _ please _ Pharma. He may just be able to make up for cutting Pharma off so harshly. Maybe forgiveness could be earned from the medic after all.

“A little taster wouldn’t be too bad,” he muttered, wishing he could cling to Tarn right now instead of the table.

“You wouldn’t want me to be _ damaged, _ would you Commander? Best to be careful with such impressive equipment.” Pharma’s aft wiggled enticingly, pressing back to feel the tip offer resistance. Pharma drew his hips forward again. That would be a tight fit, though it didn’t have the same girth as Tarn’s. 

Tarn...whom Pharma couldn’t look away from.  _ Do you enjoy me like this? At someone else’s disposal? Ready and willing, because I want you, want to do anything for you? _

Deathsaurus was learning more about Tarn’s preferences in the berth than he ever thought he would. It was kinkier than he’d thought it would be, for such a mech. He looked down at the screen, where Tarn was, before flicking his gaze down at Pharma’s back instead. It was less disconcerting to look at his turbine and wings than Tarn’s immutable gaze.

He took Pharma’s hip in hand, reaching down with tentative fingers to prod at his valve. It was warm, and already lubricated. Stretched, if Pharma’s wet fingers were any sign. Deathsaurus pushed in with three to finish off what Pharma started.

_ Tarn has done this before _ . He paused in his careful exploration as the thought struck.  _ He’s been here, doing this, and now he’s watching me do this with Pharma.  _ Weren’t Decepticons jealous lovers? Why would Tarn just…  _ let  _ Deathsaurus have a go? He would be back at the warworld eventually, and then…

Deathsaurus shuddered.  _ What does that mean for my future? _

It was impossible to keep Tarn from his thoughts. He was  _ right there _ , watching Deathsaurus as much as he did Pharma, while whispering intimate things to the medic. Deathsaurus tried to ignore them, but it was impossible with his enhanced hearing. Some of what he heard was downright obscene, even for his standards, enough to make his mouth dry.

It was in the middle of one of these lurid litanies that he aligned himself with Pharma’s valve and pushed in.

 

Pharma had been content with the fingers idling in his valve, but Deathsaurus was more impatient than he had anticipated. His servos gripped the table and he moaned, a little surprised. The spike felt entirely different, there would be no imagining this to be Tarn. For a moment, Pharma’s frame rebelled, clamping tightly around Deathsaurus in a grasp that couldn’t be pleasant by any means.

The medic had to shut down the protective protocols. Coaxing his calipers to open was a different matter.

“Tarn...” he whimpered, optics feverishly focused on the screen, “I can’t open up for him. Tell me what to do.”

 

“It’s okay, Pharma, you  _ just need to relax.”  _ Tarn eased into his talent, noticeably dropping one, two, three octaves down into his power’s range. Reaching out over distance felt different –  he couldn’t sense what Pharma or Deathsaurus’ sparks were doing, so he layered it on thicker than he usually did.  _ “I’m here, and I  _ **_want_ ** _ you to do this. Would you disobey me so soon?” _

 

“No,” Pharma sounded distant, a dreamy quality to his voice. His calipers spiralled open so fast Deathsaurus sunk in without warning. The medic moaned again, servos clawing at the table. A beastformer was definitely a new experience for him, the spike nudging his mesh a distinct shape. A distinctly different shape.

“I won’t disobey you, Tarn, I don’t want to,” his spark was thrumming wildly, fiercely joyful in the thrall of that talent. Deathsaurus could have been a faceless, shapeless husk with protruding spikes on every inch of surface, it wouldn’t have mattered to the medic.

 

Deathsaurus gasped when the previously painfully tight valve suddenly loosened, letting him sink in faster than he’d expected. Pharma was still attached to his screen, not paying Deathsaurus any mind. Even his voice was distant, with the tankformer rather than him. It was a strange experience, to be the one  _ in  _ Pharma yet be the farthest thing in his mind. It wasn’t bad, simply new.

Deathsaurus pushed away his speculations on Tarn and Pharma’s relationship for now. That was a strange mix of conflict, emotions, and kink he wasn’t going to touch for now. Grabbing Pharma firmly, he raised him up a little more before thrusting in, hard. Normally, he would have used his dentae a lot more but that meant getting close to the screen. It still felt good –  a valve was a valve, no matter how odd the circumstances around it.

_ “That’s it,”  _ Tarn purred and Deathsaurus’ groaned under the onslaught of foreign lust. It was heady and invasive, ripping away his free will to insert something powerful and undeniable in its place.  _ “Don’t worry about the differences. Feel him, how he fills you. How good it feels to have a spike in you again. Show your appreciation, Pharma. Show how much you appreciate this.” _

 

Whilst Deathsaurus may have been compelled by Tarn’s will, Pharma needed nothing more than the verbal confirmation that he was supposed to enjoy this. He started to move with Deathsaurus, making the thrusts harder still, compensating for Tarn’s absence. He wouldn’t be gentle with him now, not when he needed him so much. Pharma’s voice only managed a plethora of mewling, pleased noises as Deathsaurus began to hit the ceiling node on occasion.

It did feel good to be spiked. It felt even better to have Tarn watch him with an insatiable hunger. The medic didn’t dare dim his optics, lest he lose sight of Tarn. His vents sucked air in hard, his turbine whined and stuttered. 

Pharma managed to arch back, hands splayed on the table, pushing him up and offering a little resistance now that he was trapped between beastformer and table.

He couldn’t see Tarn like this, so Pharma whimpered his name, a little mantra as he begged to be fragged harder. There was no sense in feeling shame at this point. That was all fallout future Pharma could deal with. Present Pharma wanted to know that across the galaxy, Tarn watched him get fragged and knew the medic could only be with him, think of him.

Pharma groped behind himself blindly until he could lean against Deathsaurus, allowing Tarn a better view of what was happening between the medic’s thighs.

 

The view was  _ truly  _ excellent. Tarn leaned back, mirroring Pharma, as his spike rose from where it’d been insistently pinging him since Pharma began to touch himself. It wasn’t in view of the screen, however, since Tarn was too busy watching Pharma to think much of positioning. His hand wasn’t as good as Pharma’s valve, but it was enough as his words grew ragged.

For Deathsaurus, he had no chance to dwell on the potential awkwardness of the whole matter. Tarn’s voice had pushed all those thoughts out of his head, and his only focus was to frag Pharma into oblivion. They moaned and gasped together, further egged on by Tarn’s voice, until Deathsaurus howled into an overload that sent charge crashing through his systems and across the surface of his desk.

Another tick between Tarn’s spike and Deathsaurus’ – he had a knot. The spines along his spike rose, digging into Pharma’s walls and holding him in place, while his knot swelled up within the medic. It locked them in place, with Deathsaurus leaning over Pharma, shaking and optics blown wide. His wings had flared during his overload, and were digging tears into the office walls.

 

Pharma held onto what he could of Deathsaurus when his overload dragged the medic’s charge with it, and he been completely overshadowed by the beastformer’s spectacular reaction. When he tried to move though, he began to feel the spines, holding him very firmly in place. Pharma squirmed, but the fullness in him remained.

“Wh...What is...that for?” he asked, baffled and affronted in one. What good was it to lodge in place inside a valve? His own was registering minor puncture wounds to the mesh walls where those spines bit into him.

Pharma wrenched back a little, impatiently,  immediately whining with pain.

 

“Stop that,” Deathsaurus hissed, feeling the spines shift in ways they were not meant to, “beastformer. We’re  _ different _ .” Of course Pharma didn’t know any of this. The more he squirmed, the more painful it was. Desperate, Deathsaurus looked at Tarn for aid.

Who immediately delivered.

_ “Calm, Pharma,”  _ he said. Was it just Deathsaurus, or did he looked a little steamed out around the edges? “ _ Moving is not necessary.” _

In fact, this made things even easier for Tarn. His voice went down another octave, brimming with more power than it ever had unless he meant to kill. He usually stayed away from this range, since it caused overloads. Building up charge was one thing, but Tarn wanted to be the actual  _ cause _ . Since he wasn’t there, though… why not go all the way?

_ “That was merely one. But you can do more than that, can’t you? Just listen to me. Obey me.  _ **_Overload_ ** _.” _

 

Tarn’s voice in his spark was a force he could neither influence nor resists. When he spoke, pleasure pulsed through his plasma, swirled together in eager anticipation. The very frequency of Tarn’s voice would build charge. Not built from his nodes, nor from his sensors or any other part. Tarn’s voice pulled the overload right from his spark. It radiated out over Pharma like a shockwave, and the medic howled beneath Deathsaurus as his optics flared white. This was the kind of overload only sparkmerging would be able to achieve, normally.

Tarn?

He could just talk it into anyone.

Pharma’s vents went hard, his cooling fans louder than his rattling engine. The intensity of the spark-driven overload had static ripple over his frame, very briefly. 

Pharma held onto Deathsaurus, slumping against the beastformer as much as he could. He felt sincerely fragged, and he would curl up in the heat of a warframe now...if only this was the right warframe. 

 

Deathsaurus followed Pharma down his overload as Tarn relentlessly pushed them to another, so soon. Normally, it would have taken another period of time to build up the charge necessary, but Tarn simply…  _ talked  _ them into a devastating overload within the space of a few sentences. Deathsaurus was shaking all over now, not quite fragged out but feeling closer to it than he had in a long time. No wonder Pharma was so addicted, if this was what he got all the time.

His spines still hadn’t retracted. Deathsaurus couldn’t pull out till they did, but his overload only signalled to them that they should keep holding on. When he looked up, Tarn was staring at him.

_ He wasn’t done _ . Deathsaurus only had time to think that before Tarn spoke again, words vibrating with his terrible power.

_ “Already tired? I don’t think so. A third overload. Then a fourth. Don’t fail me now, Pharma. You wanted this.  _ **_Again_ ** _.” _

 

A normal overload would prevent the charge from building up quickly again. A normal interface was its own, self-contained little event complete with timing and a cooldown for all the necessary components.

Tarn’s talent made all of it mean nothing. Pharma didn’t have a mind to ask him to stop, not as he bowed and spasmed as his spark seared unreal pleasure through his frame. A third. A fourth. If Pharma had a brain module left after this, he had to figure out how to endure such an onslaught. The distance didn’t lessen Tarn’s impact, much the opposite. Because he couldn’t feel Pharma and Deathsaurus’ spark, he had no idea how far he was pushing them.

When the fourth overload fizzled out, Pharma collapsed to the table, a heaving, shivering mess. His valve was clenching, releasing, clenching, his optics blown out with charge and dim. 

“..T-Tarn...” transfluid seeped onto the commander’s desk, lubricant marred his thighs. 

 

_ “Still awake?”  _

Pharma’s defeated little whimper was music to Tarn’s audials. He chuckled, and each one jabbed pleasure at the pair. Deathsaurus followed Pharma, exhausted. They were both sprawled across the desk, audials pricked for each low word from Tarn that would send spiralling into an overload out of their control.

“Tarn…” Deathsaurus breathed, “I’m…”  _ exhausted. Overwhelmed.  _ It felt good. So good, that it hurt. Each overload was more powerful than the last and Deathsaurus wasn’t used to this kind of assault on his spark like Pharma was. His wings sagged as his spike ached, charge still racing over him as Tarn kept it here.

_ “Do you want to stop?” _

_ Yes. No.  _ “Pl – please,” he said, unsure of which one he was asking for.

Tarn took it as a  _ no _ . “ **_The climax should be the best one, wouldn’t you agree?_ ** ” He was smug, damnably smug, as he watched the two. His own overloads were taken and spent, leaving him to languish in the pleasant afterglow as he pushed them harder. “ **_One. More. Time_ ** .”

Deathsaurus  _ screamed _ .

 

Still entangled with each other, each overload forced from Deathsaurus reverberated through Pharma, whose spark echoed it back amplified. It was maddening and exhausting and pleasure, all in one. The line of pain and pleasure was so thin, you’d need a microscope mech to find it here and now.

Pharma wailed under the continued assault, Deathsaurus’ big frame crashing on top of him in a helpless spasm of pleasure. He was still inside, the spines jerked around by every involuntary movement. Pain was beginning to weave itself into the overloads and Pharma felt one of his impromptu lover’s wings serrate his arm. This was starting to get out of control, their two frames thrashing together again and again.

“Tarn, please...en-enough.”

 

Miraculously, he stopped when Pharma pleaded. Not so much for Deathsaurus. The arrest let Deathsaurus slide back into his chair, spines finally letting Pharma go as he sagged, steaming. He couldn’t even muster up the willpower to close his panel, he was so exhausted. There was no presence of mind to check on Pharma.

“Are you hurt?” Tarn asked, checking what little of Pharma he could see. “You should rest, now. Deathsaurus must have a berthroom nearby for you.”

From the commander came a wordless groan. His wings were sagged all over the floor, frame lax.

 

Pharma didn’t want to leave. Going to his room meant losing the transmission, losing his contact to Tarn which had been so very, very good. The transfluid, lubricant and energon that stained him would be beautiful reminders of how much Tarn missed him.

The medic wished there wouldn’t such a stupid amount of distance between them.

“I’ll go to my rooms. Thank you, Tarn. I...” no, not again. He’d already made a damned fool out of himself confessing the first time, and it had been all for Tarn’s benefit then.

“I’ll eagerly await your return.”

Better. Nothing more needed to be said in front of Deathsaurus. Pharma climbed himself free, shut his panels and bowed his helm to Deathsaurus. Whether or not their transmission would continue didn’t matter.

Deathsaurus had seen exactly, and _ felt _ , what Pharma and Tarn did together.

 

Deathsaurus moved enough to cover his face with his hand. “I am not going to be able to look Tarn in the optics,” he confessed with another groan. “Not now, not  _ ever _ .”

The chuckle from the screen reminded Deathsaurus that he could still see him. “Pits,” he groaned, “I’m cutting the transmission. Good  _ bye _ .”

The screen turned black, as Deathsaurus continued to rub his face slowly.

Tarn went to Pharma’s private channel instead.  _ ::Get some rest,::  _ he urged, gentle.

 

Pharma walked to his own room with his helm held high and his thighs wobbling, splashed with various fluids. He didn’t care who saw him. He carried Tarn with him in his spark, in his frazzled systems, in every ounce of his exhausted frame.

::Did you like that?::

How long had it been since Pharma had seen Tarn use their private channel? He barely kept himself from flooding the channel with glyphs of relief, affection and longing. Never again did he want to be cut off from his beloved monster.

 

_ ::It was… new. I enjoyed it. You seemed to _ . _ ::  _ Tarn touched the channel between them, content.  _ ::I wish I was there now. Recharge with you.::  _ Recharging together after a good ‘face had been their tradition, unbroken until now. For now, at least. Tarn had a lot of catching up to do, once the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ docked.

_ ::Rest. And then repair your arm. I will be there soon.:: _

 

Pharma fell into recharge feeling uncharacteristically cared for and appreciated. It was a feeling he would try to hold onto, frantically.


	22. Chapter 22

Things were...awkward, with Deathsaurus. Their meetings were no longer so amiable, there was always an awkward air between them now, the memory of their shared, frantic overloads forever vividly in their minds. But Pharma dutifully continued showing up, asking for news of the Tyranny each day.

Last night, Deathsaurus had said the ship was closing in. Tarn hadn’t sent any transmissions to him, by which Pharma assumed the mech was busy with his mission, his plans for vengeance and to kill Megatron.

None of that, Pharma cared about. Tarn being back, that’s all that mattered.

But he didn’t idly pass the time. Pharma worked, prepared an entire new cradle from memory of Tarn’s specs, using every resource available to him to make it stronger, better. Befitting Tarn’s needs. Pharma didn’t skip his shifts, though, having promised a full and satisfying performance, treating his patients and working on several projects besides the cradle. 

The hospital had a good view of the docks though, and Pharma would have to be blind to not see the dark bulk of the Tyranny, docking. With barely concealed excitement, he handed his tools to his assistant, an oddly quiet mech with the designation of Tourniquet. He was a Decepticon medic, or so he claimed, but he’d been utterly stumped by Pharma’s skill and resigned to be his silent, additional pair of hands since day one.

“...You didn’t close the weld.”

“Something’s come up. You can handle it. Just don’t hit the fuel line and it’ll be a successful surgery.”

“Pharma, this is wildly irresponsible conduct.”

“So go to Deathsaurus and complain.”

Tourniquet lowered his helm. Everyone on the warworld had heard the rumours by now. That doctor DJD had seduced even their commander into a wild night of interfacing and continued to hold the beastformer in thrall.

“That’s what I thought.”

Pharma smirked, walking into the corridor and opening a window. It wouldn’t be a long flight.

The warworld looked exactly as he remembered. Tarn awaited at the bridge as Kaon carefully docked them into a smooth landing. When they touched down, Tarn was up, striding towards to loading bay to walk down the ramp. Back straight, hands behind him, he was the very image of untouchable pinnacle of Decepticonhood. His gaze passed over the thin crowd imperiously, searching.

When they located Pharma, flying down, a trace of heat entered them. As Tarn strode down, the crowd parted to let him pass. Deathsaurus was also there, concealing his awkwardness with impressive stoicism.

“Tarn,” he nodded.

“Deathsaurus,” Tarn replied, and smirked at the brief swallow that drew from the beastformer. Deathsaurus hadn’t forgotten, it seemed.

When Pharma touched down, a brief titter passed through the crowd. Another look from Tarn, however, made them withdraw. Leozack was coming down the ramp, pushing past Pharma to take his place behind his commander. Tarn regarded Pharma silently.

“Pharma,” he said simply.

_ ::You look well.:: _

In front of such a crowd, Tarn kept his normally tactile behavior restrained. Even when Pharma was within touching distance, his hands remained behind him.

 

“Tarn.” Pharma nodded, bowing his helm only insignificantly. A gesture of respect, small but meaningful. He knew they couldn’t touch each other in front of this crowd. Possibly not until much later. But Pharma felt joy radiate from him nonetheless. He wasn’t polished or gleaming this time, just having been deeply involved in his work. But he’d had time to peel off the badge for the occasion.

::Welcome back. I have everything ready for you.::

Including himself, judging by the eagerness his systems radiated. Fear had given way to desire once more. At least until they re-entered their cycle with another argument.

Without any further gesturing, Pharma came to stand beside Tarn, vaguely behind him. Part of his division. That's what Tarn had claimed. Pharma would not forget it, or how it made him feel.

 

“I assume your mission was a success?”

“It was acceptable,” Tarn nodded. Leozack looked like he wanted to say something about  _ that _ , but Deathsaurus hit him with a wing, silencing whatever he had to say. 

“The full discussion can happen in my office. If you would, Tarn?”

Deathsaurus stood aside, letting Tarn lead.  _ Interesting _ . The warworld commander usually preferred to display their stances as equals –  this was an unprecedented show of deference. That, or Deathsaurus was hemming him in against the crowd.

Since there was no reason for Deathsaurus to be trying to corral Tarn into a particular spot, he assumed it was the former.  _ ::Come along, Pharma.:: _

Tarn still had  _ plans _ . Going straight to Pharma’s rooms would be faster than trekking down to the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ all over again. Tarn knew the route to Deathsaurus office from here, and he went along with the full confidence of being followed.

 

Leozack, Pharma and Deathsaurus followed Tarn, and it wasn't lost on the crowd what kind of gesture this might be. Whether or not the inhabitants of the warworld approved of their commander's position below Tarn remained to be seen.

Pharma could merely hope the discussion would be over swiftly. He and Tarn had a lot to catch up to.

It was lost on the medic how much this progression indeed made him look to be Tarn's second.

 

With the three of them in one room, it wouldn’t be amiss for some awkwardness to be expected. Tarn refused to allow such a thing to linger, as he quickly burst into a rapidfire tally of events. He knew it, they knew it, might as well get business out of the way before the awkwardness settled. Besides –   _ he _ was the one to make them overload. 

Deathsaurus looked somewhat surprised at this turn of events. He’d been expecting something less official than this. It was understandable, considering previous events and Pharma’s presence here.

Of course, it did all look very professional… except for the fact that Tarn was reporting and comming at the same time.

“Leozack’s involvement in the final battle was crucial, as he…”

_ ::I got you a gift.:: _

“... immediately after that, we landed on Tarsus IV for…”

_ ::It will have to wait, unfortunately. I’ve missed you.:: _

“... the organics launched a pincer attack on us, forcing some unorthodox maneuvers…”

_ ::Missed ‘facing you. Touching you. How you taste.:: _

“...and that was how my transformation cradle was shattered.”

_ ::I could just bend you over that desk there, and you’d like it, wouldn’t you? You belong to  _ **_me_ ** _.:: _

 

Listening to Tarn’s voice and receiving his comms shouldn’t be so complicated. Any mech was capable of dual communication channels.

But what Tarn was telling him on comms had Pharma’s cooling fans click on. He must look like an eager piece of share-ware, already preparing himself for Tarn’s return during the official report.

Although with the four of them in the same room it was a little more than awkward. Leozack had no idea what had happened right here, or where the deep furrows in the walls came from.

::I would like that, Tarn. I’m yours. To ‘face, to brand.::

“The replacement cradle is ready for installation as soon as you’d permit, commander. I have been preparing it for surgery in advance of the Tyranny’s return.”

 

“Then we should see to it right away,” Tarn said, nodding sagely. He got up. “I hope all has been satisfatory, Deathsaurus?”

“What? Ah, I mean, yes. It has.” The warworld commander still looked shifty. “Leave at your preference.”

“Very well. Pharma? Come along.”

Once they were out, Tarn let his hand settle on the back of Pharma’s neck. “Lead us to your rooms,” he instructed.

 

It was a heavy and reassuring weight. Pharma shuddered beneath it. He couldn’t get enough of Tarn’s field, his presence. Everything he’d been denied, even before the mech was worlds away. His field meshed into Tarn’s, thickly promising not to part with it any time soon.

“What about your cradle?” Pharma spoke softly, affectionately, more so than he ever bothered to before, “Aren’t you in pain?”

 

Tarn glanced down at him. “I thought you would be doing the surgery in your rooms,” he said. “Was I wrong?” Pharma was good enough that a medibay was merely optional. Tarn was tough enough that not having a medibay was only a middling concern.

Their fields swirled, and Tarn’s wrapped around Pharma’s in its typical chokehold, smothering it until it was utterly subjugated. The entire thing was steeped with fondness, black and hungry.

 

“No, you were not.” Pharma just needed to confirm it. He was quite sure Tourniquet had obeyed his command and delivered the cradle to his personal quarters. If not, he would face some severe consequences.

His quarters were nothing special, but they also weren’t shabby. Well-kept and orderly, Pharma had not made any efforts to personalize the place. Only the high-grade containers marked the rooms as used, really.

And the package was there, seated squarely on his desk, contained within one of the units from the hospital, bearing a warning not to unseal it. Pharma smiled at its presence, it was truly a masterpiece and he couldn’t wait to give it to Tarn, to feel the mech’s pleasure when his addiction was not only sustained, but encouraged.

“I need you on the berth. This is a long procedure, my dear commander.”

 

Tarn obliged Pharma, laying back down. He watched the mech through the corner of his optic, examining the package he had. A gift from Pharma… just a few years, that would have been mindboggling. And yet, now, here they were, rushing to berths and exchanging gifts like…

He stayed away from the word. Pharma’s confession was his own business. Tarn had no desire to touch that kind of territory.

“It’s your work; excellence is guaranteed.” Enough that Tarn wasn’t worried about what he’d do next. “Tell me when you’re ready to begin.”

 

Now here came the awkward part. Pharma held his container and scrutinized the berth. It wasn’t a medical slab, so he couldn’t adjust the height, or the light above it. Leaning over Tarn was going to be a strange angle, like this, since the berth was so high up (for recharge comfort).

“This isn’t going to look very professional.” Pharma climbed over Tarn’s arm, finding a seat on the tankformer’s chest, since he’d have to cut open his entire abdominal plating. Surgical lenses extended down from their hidden sockets in Pharma’s helm, and he twisted around to look down his his commander.

“I assume you want no dampener, as always?”

The saw of his right arm revved hungrily.

 

“No need for it,” Tarn confirmed. Pharma’s weight was negligible. In fact, this position was perfect for what he had in mind. “I think concerns  about professionalism between us have become… inconsequential, at this point.”

He squeezed Pharma’s thighs. “As long as your position doesn’t distract you, Pharma, I think the two of us will be fine.” His hands slowly ran up and down, brushing the knee joint before sweeping upward to edge into seams there. Nothing overly explicit, for now.

 

Maybe this position was preposterous, but Pharma could definitely enjoy Tarn’s enthusiastic touch as he marked the plating and began to saw. Tarn did have a latch to make t-cog transplantation easier, but his cradle was a considerably larger part of his anatomy. Especially since it was shattered, and Pharma would have to pick pieces of it out of Tarn’s other internals. This could take all day.

Peeling up the layers of plating, Pharma found pleasure in sinking his servo into Tarn, lifting out the cog, hanging by the precious fuel lines in a big, nasty mess of shattered metal.

“Oh Tarn,” he purred, entirely pleased to be performing such a highly challenging operation, “you’re always far too hard on your frame.”

 

“It gives you an excuse to tinker on me, doesn’t it?” Was it just his imagination, or could he smell the charge on Pharma? Taking a hand of his thigh, Tarn unlatched his mask and pushed it up on his face. Cool air hit his face as Tarn carefully pulled Pharma a little closer, urging him to raise his hips.

As Pharma began to work, his internals began to shift. Gears turned, as energon and coolant flashed through tubing. Charge danced out, zinging Pharma’s fingertips. Tarn was already heating between his legs. His mask edged up higher, exposing more of his face.

 

Pharma’s back was turned to Tarn’s face, so he got to see nothing of his reaction there. But in front of him...He could watch Tarn’s internals all day, not just when he was digging pieces of embedded metal shards out of his lines, mesh and circuits.

Tarn’s warm, firm touch on his thigh wasn’t bad either. Pharma could get used to surgery like this. 

“I could tinker with you all day,” he murmured, admiring piece after piece that he removed. Not many mecha could claim to have survived a shattered cradle, let alone walk around being the scourge of the Decepticons with it still inside of them.

“Your pain threshold is amazing. This would have killed someone like me,” his voice was full of scientific curiosity and admiration, his field thick with appreciation and possession. 

 

“I’ve broken it before,” Tarn shrugged. “Most warframes can survive similar –  what use would we be if severe physical trauma was enough to kill us? Sixshot survived Metroplex stepping on him. Overlord has had explosive nanites strip all his plating off. I’ve lost limbs, internals, most of my lower jaw… several times over. It’s normal.”

Pharma’s panel came closer, to his chin, then to his mouth. Tarn adjusted his grip, raising him higher yet again, before slowly licking up the metal cover.

“I am trusting your skill, no matter what  _ distractions  _ arise.”

 

Oh, it was going to be that kind of distraction, hm? Pharma felt pleasant anticipation shudder over him as Tarn licked along his plating. This was going to be a very, very difficult surgery. But his professional pride dictated his processor to stay focused. Remove the pieces. Clean the internals. Repair the damage, then insert the new cradle, weld it carefully into a clean socket. Focus. Focus.

His cover pinged him, array inappropriately heated. 

“I will not disappoint you,” he murmured, servos deep in Tarn and cutting out a stubborn piece, wedged thickly into the base of Tarn’s fuel tank. When it came loose, energon splashed into the open wound. Pharma let it pool for now, the smell of scorched metal permeating the room as he welded it shut with a laser cutter.

 

Tarn responded by threading his glossa in between Pharma’s panel seams, trying to convince him to open up. He could  _ feel  _ the heat radiating out from his panel –  Pharma wanted this, as much as he did. Bolstered, he renewed his efforts.

Another lick, sucking along the exposed protoform between Pharma’s thighs. Tarn pressed his lips close and hummed, glossa subtly vibrating. Stroking his thighs, as his vents dumped warm air around them. He shifted, and more white hot charge spilled out of his internals –  normally insulated by his outer plating, now exposed.

 

The position was becoming a little difficult, Pharma sprawled upside down on Tarn’s massive frame. His work continued, though he had to slow it down. Tarn was definitely distracting. The sensation tickling over his protoform had him gasp. This was a challenge he’d not had before, but it suited their mutual impatience well. Heat and liquid began to build pressure behind his plating and he was very tempted to open up. But Tarn had not commanded him to do so, and Pharma was all about obedience these days.

Working with heating internals was both fascinating and uncomfortable. His servos were stained with energon, smearing his tools as he removed another piece of shattered cradle. The last of it was stuck right above Tarn’s array components.

“Hold very still,” he instructed, cutting the scrap metal out of Tarn’s array.

 

“Open,” Tarn commanded in reply. It was dangerous, playing like this when Pharma was working on such sensitive areas. But Tarn relished a little danger in all his experiences, so he simply angled himself up to press his closer to Pharma’s panel.

Who needed medical safety when you had the galaxy’s best medic as your personal surgeon? Certainly not Tarn.

Between all his shifting, Pharma cut into a spot that triggered an automatic response in him. His panel slid back and his spike emerged. Tarn didn’t mind, so he let it stay.

 

The command prompted an immediate response, releasing the panel that had been so eager to do so. It slid back with a squelch whilst Pharma admired Tarn’s spike. He would love to just dedicate himself to it right now, but his work came first and he was far from finished. Wiping the energon from Tarn’s open wound was difficult enough without any tools, but with Tarn distracting him so thoroughly, it was downright tedious.

Sparks flew up from the open area, Pharma soldering fine lines over Tarn’s tank and array. All of this needed to be clean and closed before the new cradle could be installed. It sat next to Tarn’s frame, innocently awaiting its fate.

“I can say with absolute certainty that you are making this very difficult indeed,” Pharma smiled, not looking away from his work, but shifting his valve closer with silent demand.

 

“I’m certain you are perfectly capable of surpassing even this challenge.” He registered heat on his abdomen –  not from him or Pharma, it had to be one of his tools –  as he licked through Pharma’s valve, parting his lining. Lubricant dripped down on him in thick strings, warm and slippery, when his valve was fully revealed. The light of his optics illuminated the the gentle ripple of calipers, and the glowing nodes deeper within.

“I’ve barely touched you,” Tarn said, pride and affection warming his voice, “and you’re already so  _ eager. _ ”

The tip of his glossa circled the rim, kissing the white lining until his mouth was coated in lubricant and his spike was aching, pearlescent fluid beginning to run down the sides. Tarn finally began to lick him properly, feeling the texture of the calipers and nodes slide over his glossa as he pulled Pharma down on his face harder.

 

It came as absolutely no surprise to Pharma that he was lewdly ready for Tarn. The absolute indecency of this entire act was utterly lost on him, mostly due to the ridiculous amount of pleasure Tarn was inflicting upon him. That wonderful glossa, exploring him as eagerly as if he were an energon treat. Tarn’s praise, his admiration, an amused note to his deep voice. Pharma could listen to it all day and have it whisper sweet and filthy promises all night.

A moan slipped from his lips, but he kept working. Repeating the steps of the process in his mind felt like a lifeline and punishment both.

“I did say I would eagerly await your return.”

  
  


“Were you ready even when the  _ Peaceful Tyranny  _ came down for docking?” A chuckle. Tarn tongued another node located just within the inside of the rim, feeling it gently resist his prodding. As Pharma moved to finish his soldering, however, Tarn shifted him up further and dragged his dentae over his anterior node. It flickered against his mouth, bright and blue, until Tarn swallowed down the light and with it, Pharma’s node.

His nasal ridge pressed to Pharma’s valve, lips sealed around his node and the flood of fluid lingering on his glossa. Power flowed up his vocalizer, but was stemmed by the blockage around his mouth and as the notes intensified, so did the vibrations travelling through the metal of his jaw. 

 

Pharma yelped when Tarn went to work. Licking at his valve was one thing, but sucking so vehemently at the anterior node. The medic let out a long whine, both a complaint about the distracting nature of all of this and a pleased encouragement to continue. His servos weakly reached for the cradle, hips moving to allow Tarn deeper and deeper, as far as his glossa could reach.

“I was,” he whispered, multitasking in remembering their conversation.

“The second I saw the ship, I thought of this. You.”

 

Rather than pull away, Tarn merely sucked harder while he worked his comms.  _ ::How greedy of you,::  _ he leered over their channel,  _ ::What would you have done if this had turned out differently?:: _

Pharma always seemed to be thinking of ‘facing. So much  _ hunger _ . What would he think back then, if Pharma saw himself now?

The work around his cradle was beginning to stutter. Pharma’s steady hands felt a little weaker, little more off-target, the more Tarn worked. It was gratifying to know he could wither Pharma’s impressive control to this. Tarn wasn’t too worried about the surgery, despite it all. A few shaky solders, accidental cuts… it could be worse.

Besides, this was too much fun to pass up.

 

::I don’t see how it could.:: Pharma had the mental presence to be audacious, but given as to how thickly Tarn’s arousal had settled around him along with his field, he felt justified in his assumption. Tarn wanted him as dearly as he wanted the tankformer.

Pharma’s hands lowered the cradle into the vacated space. Connecting it was finicky and he had to steady his hands which wanted to shake and buckle under Tarn’s ministrations to his valve. This might leave a few additional scars on him.


	23. Chapter 23

Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to cover it. 

Ever since the transmission and the discovery of Megatron’s whereabouts, the atmosphere aboard the Peaceful Tyranny had become tense, silent and focused. Deathsaurus and some of his troops had been taken to come along, the warworld under Leozack’s command in his absence. The beastformer and his soldiers had zero impact on the singular obsession that kept Tarn in the darkest of moods.

Not even Pharma had been able to change anything about it, although more often than not, he actually recharged with Tarn, in his berth now. Tarn’s interfacing habits became harder, less indulgent. Pharma spent a lot of nights with an aching valve and a vaguely apologetic Tarn, who had again pushed the medic too far beyond his borders.

But his sympathy was short-lived and the closer they got to the planet, the more Tarn withdrew. 

At least he still got to see his commander after his shifts. Pharma lay awake, watching the soft exchange of air above Tarn’s vents, the heat he radiated a comfort as always. Oh, how Pharma wished he could perform mnemosurgery. He’d be inside of Tarn’s mind, and he’d wipe out any trace of Megatron. Jealousy burned in the medic. Megatron consumed Tarn’s every thought, and Pharma wanted that to be him. Like it had been, for a very brief, glorious moment of their lives. When he was all that Tarn needed. When his frame and presence were the ultimate prize.

Pharma traced a servo over Tarn’s mask, only daring because he knew the tankformer was in recharge. His Tarn. His surprisingly beautiful-behind-the-mask monster. Pharma felt nothing but greed and desire, looking at him now. He nestled against him, finding all the right spaces on the massive frame to fit his own into, as if he could meld with the mech and cure him of his biggest ailment; obsession and loyalty.

The medic had a bad, bad feeling about this whole ‘kill Megatron’ quest. And nothing Tarn said (which he didn’t, since Pharma didn’t actively bring it up) would change that.

It was wrong. Bad. A trap, perhaps. Certainly Tarn’s doom.

-x-

 

The ache of Tarn’s old obsessions resurfacing felt like a beast gnawing on the edges of his mind. Sharp teeth in the darkness, nibbling away his control and restraint, until Tarn was left thrashed raw and wounded in its wake. The flashbacks came and went, ebbing in with the tide of his sudden whirlwind of emotions –  and it with it came his addiction surging to the front, transformations seams barely done smoking before highgrade was in his mouth and he was ripping into Pharma with a fervor that didn’t see the mech; only an outlet.

His hands shook, when no one was there.

They came to the Necrobot’s planet. Tarn’s plans were jagged handfuls of glass, haphazardly arranged in fitful bouts of feverish planning, his intensity dragging his unit, the warworld, Pharma, behind him like so much flotsam behind a ship slowly sinking into the sea.

Planning. The angry message, burnt into the flowers with his cannon.  _ Sunset _ . A rhythm, a schedule, a script, all callbacks to the old days when all felt right and Megatron was on the right side.

Planning. A phone call on a phone he really should have thrown away, but always put off, always too  _ weak _ .

Planning. A meeting. Hope, welling up somewhere near his spark, fitful and strong like the nuke that’d nearly burnt him into a mindless husk.  _ Please. Please. Come back to me, to us. Please. _

Planning –  no. Plans into dust and ashes. Tarn’s hope became ashes in his mouth. He choked on it, on the recriminations thrown in his face –   _ you said this what we do! You  _ **_taught_ ** _ me this!  _ **_You made me_ ** _! –   _ and Overlord came barreling in to ruin everything, like he was designed to do.

An ungainly retreat, comments at his back, needling and provoking, until a fatal mistake.

He was in too far, when he realized he couldn’t muster up the regret.

Tarn left Deathsaurus and Nickel and Overlord and the remains of Kaon’s limp frame in the map room as he stumbled into his quarters on the  _ Peaceful Tyranny _ . “I killed him,” he said dully, “I killed Kaon.”

 

Pharma didn’t spend much time away from Tarn’s quarters. There were too many mecha on the Peaceful Tyranny now for him to be strolling thoughtlessly through its halls. Deathsaurus, his troops, now Overlord...and Tarn. Tarn in his state, breaking apart at the seams with nothing to stop the uncontrollable descent.

Pharma had no particular love for Kaon, or any member of the division, but the fact that Tarn had crossed a new line in harming his own subordinates. Killing one, even. This was definitely a new low and Pharma had no idea how he could control any part of this madness anymore.

“Tarn...” Pharma roused himself from the berth, still in repairs from Tarn’s last ‘outlet’ session,

“...come here.”

 

A twist of furious anger. Pharma  _ dared  _ order him? Who did Pharma think he was? Didn’t Pharma realize he’d… he’d…

The flash of anger left as quickly as it came –  Tarn’s emotions were like oil fires. Quick to come and quick to burn, but swiftly smothered.

He moved the same time Pharma did and pushed him back down on the berth. Curled around him, until his mask was pressed to Pharma’s abdomen. A slow, deep vent. His voice was curiously calm.

“Nickel was upset,” he reported, as if talking about resupplying, or paperwork, “I think I shocked Deathsaurus and Overlord. They didn’t see it coming.”

A pause.

“ _ I  _ didn’t see it coming.” Did it matter, what Pharma knew? He had no one to tell. “I don’t feel bad. I didn’t regret it. Not even the loss of manpower.”

Tarn had long given up feeling sorrow at the loss of a teammate. Even the pangs of  _ loss  _ dried once the fifth generation of his unit died and a new one formed. They came and went, he enjoyed their talents, and let them go when it was time. Such was the order of things.

He never killed a teammate like  _ that  _ before. Kaon had been loyal. Too attached to Agent 113, but loyal.

“Killing him a tactically poor move. I wish I could do it again.”

_ That’s wrong, right? _

“It was over the Pet. That stupid animal. He loved that thing. Wanted it back. So I killed him. Because Overlord –  he was laughing over it, over the Pet, over  _ me _ .” None of this felt like an emotional confession. Pharma was an outlet, in more ways than one. “Do you think I shouldn’t have done that?”

 

Tarn was crumbling. It was pitiful and it dragged Pharma’s spark into a pit to see him like this. The medic wrapped both arms around the tankformer, not in the least concerned that Tarn may make another poor judgement. If he killed Kaon easily, Pharma would be no challenge. 

Still. There was a reason he had come here and told Pharma and pressed himself close like a lost sparkling.

“You shocked them. If there were any doubts about your commitment to this mission...they’re gone. Overlord...he is mad. Very, very mad,” Pharma bristled, nothing but intense dislike for the triplechanger whose corpse, well, alternate timeline corpse, he dissected once upon a time. Overlord riled Tarn up like nothing Pharma had ever seen before.

“You shouldn’t have shown him that he affects you, but what’s done is done.”

Pharma tightened his grasp, trying to encompass Tarn which was ridiculous given how much slimmer and smaller he was.

 

“Will we leave this planet alive? Will I?” Tarn’s uncertainty bled into his voice. It was a preposterous thing to worry over. They outnumbered the Autobots six to one, had more weapons, more support, more  _ everything _ .

But they had Megatron.

And you don’t, you  _ never _ , underestimate Megatron. Tarn was disappointed, broken, and crushed by his leader’s betrayal, but Megatron was… indescribable. Larger than life. If anyone would pull a victory from this, it would be  _ him _ .

“Do I  _ want  _ to live?”

 

Tarn was spiralling and Pharma had nothing to catch him with. They’d been at low points before, but the mech was so close to his end that Pharma didn’t know if there was any more room beneath them in this pit.

He held onto Tarn, fields mingled together, an entangled mess on the berth surrounded by misery and despair.

“You do, Tarn, you do,” Pharma felt his vocalizer hitch and he scolded himself for it. Tarn was already falling apart. Pharma didn’t need to follow him into the abyss. He would do so, hopelessly, pathetically crawling and reaching for this mech that he intended to use and mistakenly loved. At least that delusion had fallen away from the medic during his isolation from Tarn’s wrath, back on the warworld.

“The Cause...you’d be leaving it.” 

Pharma didn’t care about Decepticons, but Tarn did. Perhaps it would be enough. Pharma knew his own existence wasn’t remarkable enough to give Tarn pause in this depressing contemplation.

“And I know it isn’t....significant, but...you can’t leave me. Remember?”

 

“Then maybe I should kill you, too.” It’d be easy. He could kill Pharma right here and leave his corpse on the berth, while he went to finish up what he started. “I can’t leave you, if there is nothing to leave.”

Simple. Efficient. 

Cruel.

Tarn no longer cared. “You would die without me, anyway. I could make it a good death. Do you fear dying, Pharma?”

 

Pharma didn’t loosen his grip. He rested his helm on Tarn’s, wishing he’d had more time to make this monster his own. Tarn had no will left, nothing that would drive him beyond all of this. But he was wrong. Pharma could always survive. Cling to life. Deathsaurus was an option, so was becoming a repentant Autobot. A little madness could go a long way in terms of pleading his innocence. Or at least...affliction.

“Yes.”

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want Tarn to die. He couldn’t have it both ways. It wasn’t fair, and life was fucking him over again, and again. He should expect it by now.

“You know I am. You’ve always played with my fears.”

 

“You  _ don’t  _ want to die?” Tarn pushed Pharma away, half rising. The vulnerability was still there, but sharper now. Rather than lost, he looked incensed. A wounded, cornered dog, ready to snap at whoever got close.

“What happened to your promise, Pharma? What happened to  _ I want to die with you _ ?”

He drew closer, but the tenderness vanished. His touch was pain, now. “If I die, what will you do? Will you run? From me, from death, from what you promised me?”

Hands crept around Pharma’s neck, threatening to squeeze. “I’ll ask you one more time, Pharma,” he crooned, honey-sweet, “and I want the right answer. Are you afraid of dying?”

 

Pharma’s spark stuttered, begging him to find a solution that wouldn’t end in expiration. But Tarn had focused his endless depression, anger and grief and it had already cost plenty of lives. His was next, no matter how much the medic could argue that he had plenty to live for.

He leaned into the threatening touch, resigning himself to a fate he didn’t deserve. But it would be the price to pay for trying to adapt and fool a monster into loving him.

“No. I just wanted it to be  _ together. _ But you are right, I did promise. I’m not afraid. I love you and I’m not afraid to die.”

 

The coin flipped, and landed on a different side. Tarn pressed his mask to the side of Pharma’s face, nuzzling him as the sharp ends jabbed Pharma. His touch softened –  a lover’s caress, rather than an imminent murder.

“That’s right,” he murmured, soothed, “you know what to say, don’t you? You always knew exactly what to do to get what you wanted. Even on Delphi. My clever, clever little medic.”

His mask slipped to the side. “You should’ve been a Decepticon. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Staring at Pharma’s face. He knew him, back then, only passingly. A few glances, a few chance sightings, only that. Never any acknowledgment, from either side. Perhaps that was why Pharma didn’t recognize him, his face.

“I’ll never love you,” he said, cruelly blunt, “but you’re the closest I will ever get to it.” Pharma was an outlet, wasn’t he? Why not unload it all?

“Do you want to know who I was, before I became Tarn?” An offer. An apology disguised as an olive branch. More chances afforded to Pharma than he’d given Kaon. 

 

Did it matter? Pharma let his optics map over Tarn’s faceplate. Shouldn’t he be struggling, trying to find a way to live on? He could. He thought about it. But Pharma was so tired of running. Tired of being afraid, of trying to shape a hopeless future into something he could endure. These last moments with Tarn, he wouldn’t try. No guidance, nothing. The mech had decided to die a long time ago, and Pharma made him a promise. It didn’t matter that Tarn would not love him. He was done trying to coax the impossible. The monster was dying and Pharma with it.

“Tell me.”

It was morbidly relaxing, knowing Tarn would kill him. Or take him along to die. There was nothing to do other than enjoy what last memories he could recall, or tracing Tarn’s face as he did now, fingertips gentle on the derma. 

 

“My designation was Roller. I was an enforcer in Iacon. I was friends with Orion Pax, Ratchet, the Outliers… until they abandoned me in the Red Waste to die. That was where I was saved, and found Megatron.”

Flat. Unaffected. He didn’t care about his past anymore, besides a mild annoyance. It was behind him now.

“I saw you, a few times. You never really noticed me, though.”

Pharma was a high-class mech. Roller was lucky to be called low middle.

“Yet look at us now.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Pharma whispered, relaxing further in Tarn’s grip. Even like this, with the mech’s hands on his neck, he couldn’t summon any more fear from himself. Roller...Orion Pax...that was all so long ago. When Pharma had thought he knew exactly how his life would end up. Successful, rich, a beautiful conjunx or five, high society events, prestige.

The war had taken all of that from him mercilessly.

“Things might have been very different if I had noticed you. I would have had more time with you.”

 

“You wouldn’t have. You wanted someone like yourself. Rich. Elite. Roller would have been a brief fling for you, at best.” A gentle reminder. Tarn had no illusions about what kind of mech Pharma was. His flaws were awful, gaping things, but they were why Tarn was so fond of him, aside from his skill and beauty.

“I will need to leave soon. One more time, before I go?”

 

Pharma rested their helms together, nodding slowly. 

It would be the slowest and most bittersweet interfacing Pharma had ever done in his life. Every touch, every murmured word, everything was too intense and yet, not enough. When Tarn overloaded him, Pharma wanted to cry. This would be their last, and they both knew it. Pharma kissed everything he could reach, everywhere Tarn let him. They didn’t leave it at one. Tarn remained in him, moved, built the charge, hummed and used his talent, until Pharma could offer nothing more, a helpless mess of overloads and tears and promises that would mean nothing, because they were going to die.

Pharma clung to the tankformer, valve clenched tight, completely overflowing with transfluid that splashed the berth, his frame, even Tarn’s. He didn’t want to let go. This would be the very last time he could ever feel Tarn. The last time he could kiss him.

The medic didn’t waste a second of it, although the liquid of his tears made for a bitter taste between their faceplates.

 

Tarn kissed the liquid of his tears, savoring their taste. Pharma wept for them. Who could claim similar?

“I will miss you,” he said, though he knew his time spent missing Pharma would not be very long. If Tarn had been a better mech, he would have begged Pharma to run and survive. To cling to life and move on, find someone who could make him happy like Tarn couldn’t.

Tarn was not a better mech, so he remained quiet.

His comm blinked. Tarn squeezed Pharma one more time, before slowly untangling himself from their embrace. He wiped the tears, cradling Pharma’s face. Another kiss, one last.

“Goodbye, Pharma.”

He rose and left the berthroom, not looking back.


	24. Chapter 24

There was no joy to find on the battlefield. Tarn was listless even as he killed, searching for the one mech he’d given up life’s last lifelines for. “Megatron!” he bellowed. “Megatron, face me!”

And so the grey mech emerged. Furious. Angry. Tarn and Overlord leapt into the fight, until the yellow forcefield made them stop. Tarn beat at the smooth curves, shrieking and raging for entry. When it let him in, it all went to hell.

Dying. He was dying. 

 

He didn’t know what drove him outside of the ship. Pharma had walked among the panic, an isolated beacon of calm resolution, all the way to the hill on which Deathsaurus idly watched the downfall of what remained of the DJD. Only Nickel had not joined her comrades, a voice of reason in the beastformer’s audial.

They would retreat. They would live. Deathsaurus had looked to Pharma, a silent offer to come with them, to survive this doomsday and carry on, return to the warworld. He could have a life. He’d be one of them, if only he followed Deathsaurus now.

He couldn’t. 

_ He wouldn’t. _

Launching himself off of the hill was nothing but a numbed reaction. Tarn had disappeared from his sight, into the yellow dome that glistened with unearthly power. Pharma accelerated, burned through fuel, turbine screaming as he raced against time. 

The cacophony of battle died when he pierced the bubble and pain wracked his frame. Helex, Tesarus and Vos were crumbling already, in the throes of death.

And there was Tarn. He would meet his gruesome fate at the hands of the mech that had raised him up, that he had admired above all else, his god, his leader, his murderer.

Pharma cared not for the anti-matter tearing into his frame as he fell into a landing, crashing into Tarn’s spasming grip. 

Together. He had promised. And for once, he would not go back on his own word. His arms found the tankformer’s dying frame, draping himself, clinging to his doomed, poisonous love.

 

His mask was gone. Megatron’s poisoned words echoed in his brain, his hatred glowing beyond the pain. He would die here. Forgotten. Reviled. His sacrifice, spat upon.

Abandoned.

The yellow glow of the forcefield mixed in with harsh blue, as the lines between Tarn and Roller blurred and Megatron was interspersed with Orion Pax’s battle mask. He was dying, from antimatter, from burns on his face and frame, from being left behind, from being forgotten again…

And someone was in his arms, bringing to reality.

A jet. Medical. Who…?

_ Pharma _ .

Tarn’s last, weak strength was spent grabbing him. Pharma was already withering in the antimatter, his beautiful plating mottling into black streaks of rust and pain. Their screams melded into one, pained and grieving at their own deaths.

Tarn was dying, but he wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t die forgotten. Someone hadn’t abandoned him, had thrown away themselves when they didn’t need to, for him.

He clutched Pharma, even as his fingers crumbled into dust. As his plating rotted into itself. The antimatter ate into his chamber, devoured his sentio metallica. Tarn felt his spark begin to die.

Soon, only their protoforms remained, bright round chambers glistening even as cancerous matter spread. Tendrils of green light wisped out, convulsing. It reached, across distance and pain, brushing against blue, before winking out.

And it was done.

 

It was eating him alive. He could feel it, as his plating scorched away, crumbling like paper under the assault of the anti-matter. Pharma had never known such pain, or such absolution. Tarn's arms were disintegrating around him, but he held him nonetheless. Together. Like he promised. As it was bound to be. Pharma had never loved anyone more than he loved Tarn at this moment of their death, one last experience they shared in agony.

The wispy touch of Tarn's spark reached out to his, before it was gone. Pharma waited for his to do the same, to follow Tarn into whatever abyss awaited beyond death. His plating, armor, most of his limbs had already been devoured by the anti-matter. Almost over. Almost peaceful.

And then, it stopped.

Pharma couldn't move, couldn't look to see what was happening, only knew he was no longer being taken apart. His spark still glowed, ravaged and weak.

Megatron looked down at the scorched husks of his enemies. And the unexpected, smaller protoform clinging to Tarn's corpse. Still alive, just as him, waiting for death. It was only a moment before the explosion would take them both, but Megatron was only filled with question, not satisfaction.

"Why?" He asked softly, watching the little blue spark writhe in agony in the crumbled casing.  The mech was nothing more than half a helm, one optic, a grimacing mouth that twisted into delirious joy when it should still be screaming.

Why had this flier come to Tarn, not to his aid, just to witness and partake in his death? Sentiment was not something the DJD could ever boasted to have had. There was no reason for it. Megatron had not expected an answer, and what he got surprised him further still. The dying mech leaned his helm against Tarn's husk, cradling broken pieces of the tankformer with stumps of his protoform.

"You wouldn’t  _ understand _ . I lo-"

The explosion ballooned from his own frame, devouring what was left inside the bubble. And among the chaos, Rodimus appeared, begging him to come along. He almost didn't take that offered, golden hand.

Megatron watched the flames ravage protoforms and the blue glow winked out of existence just as he disappeared from his own inferno.


End file.
